Reconstructive Efforts
by Daybraver
Summary: They might hate her guts but they're still her brothers, figuratively of course, so if preventing their slaughter at the hands of an angry, angry wasteland was possible than she was going to damn well try. (forgot to add this but there will be Fallout 4 spoilers, lots of them)
1. Acrophobia

Credit to my friends for editing, proofreading and helping in general, they're not on so i can't actually credit them properly though. (I'll hug them later)

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She always hated being in the air, it went against all her instincts as a survivor. She had destroyed enough vertibirds to know that being in one was the same as being a tesla cannon shot away from a fiery death and amazing as she was, even she couldn't survive a vertibird crash. The fact that the prydwen was basically just a really big vertibird, well, blimp actually, which actually made it even more dangerous than a vertibird, considering the whole ballooney bit, didn't serve to ease her worries at all considering she was on it. It wasn't just her either, the soldiers, the children, the scribes, the engineers, almost everyone in the brotherhood was on this flying deathtrap!

She hadn't tried going down to the engineering deck, not just because she lacked clearance, but also because she didn't think it would ease her worries to see how many catastrophic failures the ship risked everyday. She'd honestly rather take the nightmares of rogue vertibirds ripping through the blast resistant fabrics and burning civilians and combatants alike in a blaze of helium, it was better than solid proof that they could all go down in seconds, she'd just have to hope that there wasn't anyone out there with a really big tesla cannon.

It honestly wouldn't be so bad if Maxson, sorry, Elder Maxson, wouldn't make a point to piss off everyone they made contact with. Like when they'd taken the core for the Prydwen from rivet city, the locals certainly hadn't taken kindly to that, nor had the outcasts who had been using the reactor to power their armour. The following battle had proven that Maxson had to stop making enemies or, sooner or later, they'd all pay for it.

She wasn't stupid though, she knew that nothing was going to change if someone didn't step up to Maxson, but no one was brave enough to try, especially not her. No, the faint hope that there were enough people in the brotherhood who still shared her values wasn't worth the bloodshed if she was wrong. It wasn't that she doubted that she would have backup, she knew of at least two others who were on her side and she figured that would be enough. But if it was too early then they'd have to fight Maxsons loyalists, and she wouldn't stand for that because, well..they were brothers too, asshole brothers, but brothers nonetheless. Even so, she was getting tired of waiting. That's all her life was nowadays, waiting, for herself- for others- for the end of those stupid medical check ups that were fooling absolutely no one as to their true purpose- when was it all going to end!

Realizing that that train of thought went nowhere, she decided to think on their current predicament instead. Namely, the fact that everyone in the Brotherhood was sitting a thousand feet in the air and at risk of a fatal fall should anything dangerous make it past their defenses. In the worst case scenario they should have a fallback, something to keep them safe, it'd have to be easy to use, portable, and cost efficient, but was there anything that could fit that description?

They could try jetpacks but those required power armour meaning the kids would be out, and they didn't have enough vertibirds to get the entirety of the brotherhood on the ground without at least a week's notice. Though honestly, they should have done that rule of strategy, don't concentrate your forces. What were the footsoldiers doing up here that the turrets couldn't achieve anyway?! She admitted that the Prydwen did work as an effective supply depot but that didn't explain why they weren't sending their loose soldiers to establish a larger controlled area in the wasteland. Not too large, of course she'd seen the effect of trying to hold a border while overextended, they all had, but with their numbers and supplies they could easily take another two or three outposts near the airport, maybe send a few teams around on goodwill missions, lord knows the commonwealth could use it.

This wasn't the time to agonize over the brotherhood's suicidal protocol though, she'd be ranting to herself all day if she continued to quietly disparage all of Maxson's strategic failures. By then the brotherhood would in all likelihood be dead and in the water and differences aside, she wasn't about to let that happen. Thinking back on her time in the D.C. wasteland on the eastern coast in the hope that it will reveal a solution to the brotherhood's sky high dilemma, she recalled the military posters she'd seen plastered around the wasteland and zeroed in on one particular detail.

Grinning, she went over the details in her head, strings, linen, a bag, a belt, yes, something like that would work. She'd need to find a weaver in the wastes- and someone that could supply her with the necessary materials, but if she was successful, then no one would need to worry about falling from the sky anymore. She'd be able to sleep properly at night again. With that in mind, the former knight captain put on her mask, stuck her head down and walked out to meet the day.


	2. Status : Quiet and Angry

Credit to the exact same friends as before, I did in fact hug them, so that's cool.

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Keeping her head down had become a practiced way of life for The Scout while in Maxson's Brotherhood, albeit a deceptively simple one. She had to hold herself high enough to be respectable, after all, she was still a member of the brotherhood, even if she was a very low ranking member, and had to present herself as such. Of course, she could never stick her chin up at a superior officer, regardless of whether he was superior due to merit or ass-kissing. Ranks in this society were as unimportant as her legendary track record.

This was why she kept the bounce out of her step as she traversed the airship. It was probably a wise move considering how suspicious it would be if anyone thought she was too happy, considering her spotty past. Rebellious backstory aside, she supposed she was lucky that years of stealth and combat had given her the ability to keep her emotions under wraps because today she was happier than she had been in months! Soon she'd be free of the anxiety of being miles in the in the air and finally able to sleep easy at night.

She did notice that it was more difficult to hide her feelings than usual and after pacing the hall and feeling the eyes drilling onto her back she figured out why. She was being watched, she would've ignored it as she was always being watched, being a traitor and all, but this level of scrutiny was still out of the ordinary.

Realizing that something must have happened she started trying to eavesdrop on a pair of power-armoured knights. Luckily for her they weren't being particularly quiet, so it wasn't difficult to listen in on their conversation.

Apparently the reports from Danse's squad in Cambridge had been causing quite a stir, The Scout didn't particularly care though. As even though Danse was a wastelander, he was a wastelander who was loyal to Maxson's brotherhood. She would sooner butt heads with him anyday than pay heed to whatever isolationist agenda he was trying to push. Of course, that didn't stop her from being surprised when she heard the actual report.

"Danse apparently picked up some locals, he's bringing them here."

Never in her entire life had the scout been more glad to be cool headed than in that moment; inwardly she reeled from the statement, torn between excitement and disbelief, but no matter how much she acted the uncaring disciple, she could not resign herself to the idea of Paladin Danse allowing any sort of wastelanders into the brotherhood.

Unfortunately, on the one day where she would've hoped for some elaboration on this little wasteland miracle was also the day the Knight Captain decided to pick up on the gossip in the hallways. They yelled that 'three soldiers of the brotherhood should have more restraint than to gossip like a bunch of rivet city nannies and get back to work', silencing the two knights exchange and alerting them to her presence.

Nevertheless, hearing the loud clang of the two falling over from shock while clad in full power armour brought her no small amount of satisfaction as she departed. Good thing too, as without that small victory she may have been bowled over by the sheer despair of the knight captain's next sentence.

"Oh, and you're to report to the med bay for an examination, Scout, no dallying now!"

After that the scout had no need to disguise the bounce in her step, for none remained, nay, the only thought in her head at that point was that the wasteland irrevocably hated her guts.

Sitting the test was bad for a few reasons: first off, the scout sitting the test meant that the brotherhood was suspicious. Secondly, this was the fifth time she'd sat the test… this year. Finally and most distressingly, The Scout was fairly sure that Doctor Cade was actually a secret police lie detector used by Maxson to weed out the traitors, though that was something he was evidently not very good at. (Not that anyone would ever dare to question the wisdom of the great leader Maxson.)

To her dawning annoyance, she began to remember other reasons as the test went on, like the questions, most of which were utterly pointless considering her shipgroundedness- mairshipgroundedness, god that word was a disaster.

"As a child, were you ever exposed to radiation for an extended period?" Came the first question.

If it's about my childhood than you don't need me to answer ten times sir. She pointedly didn't reply, since that'd probably find its way to paperwork and a lashing. Okay maybe not a lashing, waste of a good whip, she'd probably have to clean toilets instead. Gross.

"Yes sir," she said instead.

"Have you ever come into contact with a person confirmed to be carrying a communicable disease?"

Another "yes sir," though honestly she could see the point of this one, couldn't have rackjoint flooding the ship in hostile territory, right. Nevertheless, seeing as her records should have a pretty big note saying 'hasn't been on field in five long years due to executive meddling' she didn't really see the point. At this juncture, it would be more their fault than hers if she caught a disease while in an isolated ship 50 thousand feet in the air.

"Have you ever had any sexual relations with any species considered nonhuman"

Ooooh, he was smirking now. He probably still remembered that rumour. She still needed to find out who spread that so she could vividly imagine punching his lights out. Imagine because she probably wasn't allowed to punch his lights out, by now,k he was almost definitely a higher rank than her after all. Oh well. At least the only people who remember that shitfest have enough decency to not bring it up these days, including Doctor Cade it seemed, she'd have to remember that, thank him somehow, maybe, he probably wouldn't appreciate the thanks of a murderer.

Well at least I won't be remembered as the person who might've had… Relations with her adoptive sister. Damn disrespectful to us both, even if she did have a crush on me for what? Three days? The things people come up with I swear.

"Ahem." Came the cough, snapping her back to reality, the scout cursed inwardly, hoping that that scribbling noise wasn't the sound of 'slow' making its way onto her report.

"Huh- No. I mean no sir- Sorry." She responded, resisting the urge to slap herself for the instinctual apology.

The doctor gave her an odd look, and The Scout suddenly remembered that blushing, cut offs and stuttering were actually suspicious behaviour.

Dammit.

Oh wait, did she say that all the questions were utterly pointless? She lied. This next one was important, though it was the only one.

"Would you have any problems pulling the trigger on an enemy of the brotherhood, whether they're human, formerly human, or a machine?"

The answer to this one always came quick, easy and without hesitation.

"Of course".

After all, any enemy who threatened the peace, progress and coexistence of the Lyons Brotherhood was an enemy she'd cut down without any reservations.

It was a good way to lie.

The doctor held a straight face as she vacated the desk, and she had to give him props for that. Hearing about a wastelanders sex life is shocking, but hearing said wastelander proclaim that they would kill for you without an ounce of falsehood despite being the most infamous enemy of the pre-schism outcasts had to be messing with his head.

All said and done, The Scout was glad that the test was over as it meant she could leave the confines of the claustrophobic med bay and head back to her room. Her plans for the day were interrupted, however, because there, right behind her, stood a stranger of around 1.80m.

The Scout was ashamed to say that she might have fallen over. While she supposed it was understandable, considering her extended absence of field and suspicions making it hard for her to get clearance for training, the realization that she'd been outclassed on anything was worrying. All things considered, and the scout hoped that the visitors apparent ninja skills were a result of his own efforts and not just a symptom of her own weakness.

Speaking of weakness, The Scout remembered her surroundings, specifically a highly amused Doctor Moron, and hastened to save some face by pulling herself up only to be pleasantly surprised when the visitor apologized and extended a hand to help her from the floor. Not one to look a gift horse in The Scout took his hand and pulled herself up. The first thing she noticed was blue, the next was that there was no power armour on this person, instead he was hefting a hunting rifle and wearing a very familiar jumpsuit.

Well this person was just full of surprises wasn't he. Either way, The Scout decided that now would be a good time to make like a tree and get some space to think, saying farewell to the stranger and setting off toward the storage deck to process this new information and what it would mean for the brotherhood.

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Reviews are appreciated since im entirely sure that there are problems, not grammatical ones i'd assume because my friends are amazing, but problems. (Only if you feel like it though)


	3. The Scout and The Scribe

Beta? What's a beta? Unfortunately my friends are suffering from the college ordeal so I couldn't take their time out, but they still helped me a lot so lots of thanks to those guys who I can't disclose.

On the other hand, I am now in the camp of ~revising my revisions its an endless cycleeeee~ So yeah i probably missed stuff, please tell if you notice and ill fix!

Anyway!

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Thinking back on the new guy, it was odd to see a vault jumpsuit so pristine. Usually they got passed around a lot and recycled, but that suit didn't look like it had been through the ringer for 200 years... it didn't even look like it had been put through once!

Now, normally, if you'd seen something like that, you would assume that the dweller in question was green and unused to battle. But The Scout knew that there was no way the brotherhood would enlist someone- even a vault dweller- with no combat skills. Should she peg him as an engineer, then? The man didn't seem the engineering type, what with that rifle and all.

On the other hand, (literally), there had clearly been a pip boy, maybe not a 3000, but definitely a pip boy, those didn't come cheap, in fact, they didn't really come round at all.

Taking that into consideration, The Scout was fairly sure that If some wastelander had managed to gain a pip boy, she'd've heard about it- especially in a technophiliac organization like the brotherhood- so she could assume he was the real deal.

In the end that begged the question. Was he really so skilled in stealth that he'd managed to evade the vast amount of gunfire he'd have experienced by now? Or was the suit new discovery? Or maybe the man a super seamster, now she thought about it.

For what it was worth, she hoped he had a running supply, after all, a running supply meant that, miracle of miracles, that there was a working vault out there somewhere that still had living people in it, (unless he was a seamster, man would that be a letdown). In other words, a working vault full of potential recruits who had yet to go through any of Maxson's idiocy. Potential recruits who had tons of pre-war knowhow and history books to share! It sounded like an opportunity if there ever was one. Regardless, it would have to wait till after she'd scrounged up some info- could be a seamster y'know- luckily, when it came to info, The Scout knew just where to go.

The storage deck was the lowest level of the Prydwen, so she always felt like she was descending into a grungy bar to meet a information dealer whenever she came down. Grungy bars tended not to have police around though, and unfortunately, the storage deck had no such shortage of knights roaming around. Which was bad. Luckily, it tended to have a bunch of scouts and logistics division members roaming around as well. Which was good. Good for The Scout, at least, cause it meant she could blend in with the crowd if she ever needed to.

But while hiding in the crowd was good and all, it was still heartening when the head of the Prydwen's ground to air logistics and cargo movement was both a closet wastelander supporter and a friend she'd known for years. And said grungy information broker, minus the grunge (so impeccable!)

Not wanting to draw attention to her grievous breach of clearance The Scout tiptoed carefully around the crates and ordinance in what she hoped was the spitting image of an old hand until she caught sight of the familiar reds and greys of one scribe Natalia. Deciding to make the most of Natalia's respect The Scout tested her stealth skills on the unsuspecting redhead.

That didn't mean she was expecting it to be so easy though, kind of sucks the fun out of it, but at least she knew never to let her near a battlefield. Ever.

By the time The Scout had made her move, she'd gotten worryingly close to The Scribe, Almost to the point of regretting it.

I suppose this could be good for her, though. she reasoned inwardly, didn't want to shock the redhead, if Natalia spun wrong she could get a concussion! Hell, if it scares her, maybe it'd inspire her to work on her situational awareness.

Decision made, The Scout nodded to herself, and made a note to apologize for what she was about to do."Either I'm a ninja or you're as perceptive as a trog, and trogs have pretty shit perception, just so you know"

Natalia's shoulders tensed, but, credit where it's due, she had yet to fall over.

"Considering your mastery of the 'ninja' perk, I would venture to say that comparing you to the japanese assassins of yore would not be entirely unfitting." she deadpanned, slowly turning around to face The Scout, "Now, was there something you required, or did you simply believe that making a fool of me before the entire division would make a fine pick me up?"

Poised as always, The Scout grinned. "I just felt a little down and needed to feel bigger than someone for once, that so wrong?"

"If you truly wish to make an impression, then you could merely palm strike a deathclaw to death, as you once did."

The Scout smiled at the reminder, while she might've had more than enough reasons to avoid deathclaws, the fun she'd had beating the snot out of them with her bare hands certainly wasn't one of them. she could never bring herself to say that to Natalia though, the thought of The Scout being involved in a fight would probably send the woman spiraling off into excitement, so she chose a jibe instead.

Taking a second to draw up the biggest sob story she could manage regarding cut palms and deathclaw hides, The Scout gave her best puppy dog look to the scribe.

Natalia, however, was unamused, and merely smiled tightly as she explained slowly and respectfully that she should just wear gloves and stop complaining, causing The Scout to cross her arms as she replied.

"It hurts even if i'm wearing gloves, no, scratch that! Especially if i'm wearing gloves, all the padding in the world..."

"Excuses, excuses," Natalia snorted, giving a dismissive gesture at her whining. "if you are going to complain that much then simply use the dismembered hands of their brethren instead, it would make more of a spectacle than fooling about at your superior officer anyway"

"you're pulling rank on me, really?"

"Of course not, Only threatening to," Natalia replied humorlessly, though she was smiling as well. "Now, you needed something?"

Reminded of her purpose, The Scout ignored the jab at her illustrious demotion and asked Natalia whether the brotherhood had been stocking any fabrics that could be used for parachutes. In the intervening minutes, as she observed the scribe poring over her papers, she was informed that while the brotherhood possessed the necessary cloths like linen and hemp -since they needed them to make uniforms- they weren't woven fine enough to catch the air like a parachute would, and would probably be a dead-from-great-height-weight as they were.

Unfortunately, despite being an organization which literally shoots people for any sort of useful technology, The Brotherhood lacked the machinery capable of unraveling the fibers for re-weaving.

Not that we could requisitioning any even if they did, despite the fact that they wouldn't even leave the ship! Oh nooo, Instead we have to…

Well instead they'd have to find an outside source of hemp, which was already going to be a chore, and pay for it, which would be even worse, if not impossible- cause hell if she was going to steal from wastelanders.

Luckily, after letting The Scribe go over a few more documents regarding the commonwealth, both she and her friend found that there were a number of settlements that would be capable of providing hemp for their designs. Then again, considering how she was Prydwen bound for the foreseeable future, it was unlikely that The Scout herself would be able to traipse off for supplies, which brought her to her next line of questioning.

"So…" she began, leaning sweetly across The Scribes desk despite the woman's annoyance annoyance, "Heard about the new guy? Caught a sight of him earlier, didn't seem like your usual recruit, right, why d'you think that is?"

The head scribe took a break from muttering she get off the desk to shoot The Scout a confused look, "He happens to be a vault dweller, just like you, I thought you would be able to tell, what with him wearing the suit and all?"

"I mean is he on our side," The Scout clarified, "Danse recruited him, but he helped me up this morning despite knowing I was a wastelander. We might be able to ask him for help."

At that, Natalia gave pause

"Hmmmmm, That is actually up for debate at the moment, he was promoted far faster than any of the other brothers, and he passed the examination like a good little knight, but there have been conflicting reports from the wasteland proper."

An eyebrow quirked at that "Reports from the wasteland, who's even down there right now?"

"Well, not really" Natalia admitted, rubbing the back of her neck in a rare display of sheepishness, "we have been hearing things from the radio. The DJ goes on at length about him, much like three dog, well- used to, about you."

While the topic of three dog would normally be a conversation killer in The Scouts company, at that moment she was too invested in the conversation to care. "so I need a radio, where can I get a radio, they confiscated my pip boy after the Harkness debacle and I ain't been in tune since."

Natalia appeared to mull it over for a bit. The Scout would say 'appeared to' because one never could tell what Natalia was thinking, she could be musing about pigeons and rainbows for all the scout knew, hell she could see the feathers practically popping out of her ears! Maybe.

Before the idea could continue further, The Scribe interrupted her little moment with some well needed clarifications.

"I do happen to have an idea about that, if you would be willing to listen. I could conceivably get you a radio, but you would have to come later, say, about a day."

"About a day!? Give me a timeframe pal"

"early dawn, when night watch and day watch are in the middle of switching rotations, I have been thinking about this for a while"

"A while, thinking about what?"

"A voice, I feel as though we need one, and considering recent events, this may be the time to find it."

"Time? Voice? What are you even talking about., do you really gotta be so vague?"

"Why not?" Nat replied bluntly, "it is not as though we are alone here after all."

It was only then that The Scout remembered where she was, the Prydwen, a den of lions, and became aware of every eye on her back, scouts didn't usually whisper with the head scribe did they?

"4:20 good for you, then" she said quietly

"4 at the earliest"

"see you then, and sorry for sneaking up on you"

With that done, The Scout turned and went on her way, hoping that most old hands left the storage deck crouched and wreathed in shadows.

she didn't see The Scribes soft smile, then the sigh, as though a storm was coming that only she could see.

The Scout decided that she'd be getting up early from now on, at least when it wasn't cloudy. It freed up a lot of time to get dressed and hide her problematic paraphernalia. Besides! There was some A+ comedy out there. she'd seen at least three gulls crash into each other this morning, which was a feat when you had two heads and six eyes pointing forwards. Hilarious! Kind of.

Honestly she hadn't even thought that there had been gulls on the rad choked skies of the east coast, especially when there were honest to god radiation storms here- What was with Boston weather- But she supposed nature always did find a way, after all.

Nevertheless, watching the wildlife mess up flying was beginning to lose its charm and The Scout could feel a yawn creeping up on her, which was a no-no, she had places to be!

Speaking of which, she realized, after a glance at her modest analog clock, it's about time to go.

The Scout could already hear the pretentious sound of the night and day watches boots impacting the ground as they switched rotations, how people- including herself till today- slept through that, she'd never know. Clangy feet aside, it would be one of the few times she could get about the ship without attracting attention, and from how Nat had been acting, she could guess that attention would've been a very bad thing.

While the timing meant the ship was mostly empty, there were still some knights and sergeants hanging about, so she wasn't exactly free to frolic about the ship as she'd've hoped, but it was better than being caught and having Natalia glare away her fighting spirit. So after making her way through the ship in a quiet manner, she eventually stole- not literally- into the Cargo and… proceeded to blunder around the cramped area for another five minutes trying to find the damned woman.

It was only when she'd come frighteningly close to knocking over several boxes that Natalia gave her position away with an exasperated whistle. Following the noise in some sort of twisted hot and cold game, The Scout finally came across The Scribe, who was crouched in an inconspicuous corner, hidden from the world by two towering stacks and halfway down a box.

Man that woman was paranoid.

Attempting to dispel the awkwardness of making conversation with a box dweller, she thought it wise to begin with an amicable "Hi!"

"Quiet" Hissed The Scribe, agitated and retreating a little further into her box.

"Hahaha Ok," The Scout chuckled, earning one of Natalia's patented death glares, coughing lightly, she continued, a little quieter this time."Well, I'm here, gimme the details, I've been thinking about Vaultie all day"

Extending from her cardboard barrier a tad, The Scribe threw a perplexed look her way."Vaultie, really, not even Vault boy?" she questioned.

"He's older than me Nat, I can't call him 'boy'" The Scout exclaimed, exasperated, "Besides, only three dog would be able to call someone that, it's his trademark.", at the mention of everyone's favourite traitorous DJ, Natalia's expression softened.

"He might be older, but he is certainly more the stranger to the wastes, he is apparently after his missing child, he was kidnapped from the vault."

"A lost family member, huh, heard that story before"

"Indeed," Natalia said solemnly, "but it gets worse from there. We inspected the records on vault 111, and found it was involved in cryogenic experimentation, he is likely pre war, and left in the wastes without a family or a clue."

The Scout gave a slow exhale at that, she knew first hand how terrible the wasteland could be to a Vault dweller, and he was holding up well.

Voicing her thoughts to the redhead The Scout continued "Sure doesn't look it, I'd had him pegged for a scavver, what with how good with the wastes he was. I mean, Pre war, You'd expect him to be, I dunno, breaking down or something." The Scout shrugged.

After all, that sounded pretty traumatic. Waking up in a world like this, without any idea of what was out there. Even she'd been prepared for the wastes, over prepared even, she'd been expecting hell, after all the horror stories of the vault. she'd gotten a life instead, even if it was in shambles now, the man was doing great all things considered. Sighing, she realized that there was no way she was going to be able to delve into that, it was too personal- and she was definitely too clumsy, which left only one option.

"So I'm gonna need that radio instead,"

In response, Natalia's face lit up like the sun, leaving The Scout was mildly terrified.

"Oh yes, the radio! I have it right here actually, connects to every station in the commonwealth! It will definitely be able to tap into diamond city station, you will need a setup though, I recommend your quarters- especially if you want to start the station,"

"Ok, but I'm going to have a hard time keeping it secr-" she agreed, before realization crashed onto her like a yao guai "- wait what?!" she started, barely holding back her shriek "-Start a station?! When did this happen!?"

Natalia was smiling still, even though The Scout knew she was way too intelligent to be unaware of what the hell was wrong with this. That's right, there must be a trick to this that's all. Comforted by those naive intelligent thoughts, The Scout found herself smiling as well, before Natalia shattered those dreams into pieces.

"I have been planning this for a while now!" she gushed, off in her own little world, "Calm down, everything is covered, I recommend naming it 'galaxy news radio redux. Oh and if you happen to be worried about being found out, then put those thoughts at ease. I knew there would be problems if anyone heard your voice so I pulled a modulator together with some of the scrap robots. With it no one would be able to tell it was you! You could be the voice of the movement!"

The Scout could only stare at the redhead forcing an ever increasing load into her hands. Clearly Natalia was either insane or hopped up on mentats, and when dealing with such people you had to keep a good awareness of their movements. They could strike at any moment, shiv an unsuspecting Scout, and sell their organs on the black market for more drugs.

Nevertheless, Natalia was a friend, so rather than shooting her in the face with a dart gun (she'd find one even if she had to conjure it out of the fabric of reality) and literally jumping ship, The Scout attempted reason

"There, is, no, movement" she said, slow and enunciated, even a baby could understand, her friend certainly would've been able to, alas, the next she heard was a patronizing sigh.

"Now, now, vault girl, you need to have some faith in your fellow man if you want to start gaining supporters, viewers love a big heart,"

"Viewers love a severed head if they're mad enough! And they will be mad, so long as we don't know how many-"

"Stop. Now."

The Scout was knocked out of her panic at the sound of her friends voice. For Natalia, collected as she was, to let such anger into her voice, spoke of how serious the subject was. Dumbly, The Scout nodded and silently assented to The Scribes demands. Appeased, she spoke.

"I am going to be frank about something, the people we know are with us are dwindling. If we want to reform the brotherhood we need to act while we can or take a prayer. And I am not fond of prayers." she took a breath, "Please remember the people who fought for this, they would want it finished." she stopped for a moment, as though letting the words sink in.

Pinned in place by her friends unrelenting stare, The Scouts thoughts seemed as loud as the howling wind. How can you say that! she reeled, If you admit that they died for this, then how can we not do our best!?

Though too close to The Scout to be ignorant of her inner feelings, Natalia was stone faced "You know as well as I do that if we do nothing, nothing will happen, Maxson will win. We cannot let that happen, for our brothers and our people."

After a long silence, The Scout finally felt that it was time to speak. she allowed herself to reply, barely able to keep the cascade of questions and doubts tumbling out as she voiced her piece. "That doesn't change the fact that you're asking me to set off a riot, and quite possibly die in the process, so that we might save some people."

"I said I would cover everything did I not," Natalia chastised, "All will be well, you need only act as a figure we may draw the mutineers around, once we are united, we stand a chance at talking down Maxson's loyalists."

"And killing them if they resist." The Scout clarified.

"If, hypotheticals are important, no?" Natalia said dryly, as if betting lives on a hail _ were a thought worthy of sarcasm, "besides, it is not as if they never asked for it."

The Scout could've sworn she heard utterances of omelettes and dead deathclaws too. The thought would have been funny were it not about real, palpable murder.

"Haha, no," she laughed, attempting to brush the subject aside, "We're not doing that, sorry Reddy, but I'd like a less bloody outcome"

"You didn't have a problem before,"

The Scout almost buckled over at that, fairly sure that if words could kill, she'd be dead by now. Mentally noting that things that happened seven years ago could still be brought up in flippant conversation, she responded with dark anger.

"Things have changed Natalia,"

"Enough for us to leave the wasteland under Maxson?" The Scribe demanded " I agree that things have changed, but it's surely not for the better, and it's only going to get worse if you do nothing."

"Well what do you suppose we should do then? Go on a murder spree!?"

"Only if they refuse to comply!" Natalia responded "And if they do resist, then they're basically raiders anyway, killing raiders is what you do, right Wanderer?"

"First time you've used that name used derogatorily," The Scout muttered unable to reconcile with the callousness of her friends statement. These were innocents, not crazed bandits, and besides, those days were in the past.

"Besides, there is no f**king way I'm pulling a paradise falls while there's children around,"

It was Natalia's turn to raise a brow, though she somehow managed to make it insulting, she had a way of doing that. "The children are meaningless, the fact that you brought them up at all is fallacious."

"But you'll kill them if they stand by Maxson?"

"Of course not, they aren't combatants! It's the soldiers that are the problem!"

"So you will kill the combatants."

Exasperated, Natalia continued "As I said, only if they refuse to comply!"

"You're draconian!"

"the word you're looking for is *reasonable*"

"For a machiavellian!"

"For one thing, the prince was not a how to : evil guide!" Natalia exclaimed, flushed with anger "Secondly, I'm doing this for the wasteland, what are you doing?"

"Trying to keep everyone alive!" (The indignation certainly was.)

Natalia snorted, "Trust you to become a messiah right when they've become obsolete"

Cynical, so cynical, when did she get so cynical- or maybe she always was, maybe it was The Scout who'd changed. Her cheeks never used to get so hot at such stupid things- is this what passed for a battle now?

Breathing deep, she made an attempt to control her voice, tapering her yells to a deadly whisper. "Just stop. Just stop already, Find someone else to do your crazy hosting," she breathed, putting down the radio set and making for the door,"if it's as you say there should be plenty of volunteers!"

With all that said and done, The Scout turned to leave, she needed sleep anyway, unfortunately, she couldn't resist a parting shot-

-"You really ought to give your brothers some more credit, you were just like them once."

Natalia was steadfast. Her answer swift as an arrow- obsolete, but still powerful when facing a weak enemy-

"If I came face to face with the me back then, then I would pull the trigger on them without a thought." -was she weak?

The answer was no, The Scout wasn't weak, she may have lost everything, she may not have fought in years, but she still had her ideals, and as long as she had that she didn't give a crap about The Scribe's bullshit- hell! She was already out the door-

"If Mary were here she would be ashamed of you."

Oooooh now that's low.

"I'm sorry what!?" she asked venomously, spinning on her heel and crossing back into the room.

"If Mary were here-"

"I f*cking heard that part you-"

Deep breaths, The Scout reminded herself, forcing down her boiling blood and forcing down a rattling intake, she couldn't afford to alert the guards but damn if it wasn't hard to keep it down.

"Severely unpleasant person," she finished icily, fixing the scribe with a glare.

"What do you know about her anyway," she spat bitterly, battlefields and hazes passing behind her eyes, "The only thing you know about her is she's out an eye and lying dead somewhere."

"I know she cared enough about her ideals to fight any number of people- including you."

"Shut up"

"And here you stand, kowtowing to the people who killed her."

"I killed her." The Scout muttered, the anger finally draining out of her as she slumped on the doorway. Remembrances flickering through her mind, not just Mary, everyone. Gob, Three Dog, Cross, Charon, dogmeat even Fawkes.

Though at least. She remembered grimly, At least he had the courage to be with her when she died, like I can say the same.

Natalia The scribe looked on at her misery with something akin to disgust, "Are you still going on about that, it wasn't your order, and seven years have passed!"

"Well then why are you bringing it up now?!"

The Scribe stared down at her, eyes cold with disappointment,"Because the way your acting is ridiculous, after all this time, you intend to just keep waiting and crying? You dishonour everyone who died under Maxson's orders!"

"I ain't crying!"

"You might as well be."

"I'm not- aaaargggh" The Scout wanted to scream, to hit something, to throttle the woman, but even though she wished this was situation where she could let loose, it wasn't, so she did the only thing she could- pacing in circles and making frustrated noises.

"Grrrrrrrrrrrr"

"Growling, really."

"Grrrrrrrrrrr!" A little louder this time.

"Sigh," natalia sighed smugly, the brat, "at least try to come to a decision before waking up the entire ship with your childishness."

The Scout snapped up and turned to leave, "I have come to a decision."

"Truly?" Asked the scribe, cocking an eyebrow at her departure as she delicately lifted the radio of the table.

"Yeah," she replied, throwing one last glare at the redheaded woman who had yesterday been her friend, "Go f*ck yourself."

The door slam lent a lot more finality than her shaking voice.

* * *

Unfortunately Friend can't make me write better :I (i gave up on the ending after six tries)

Seriously though if my argument is unclear you don't want me clumping them up more man.


	4. Speechcraft is not my forte

I edited and proofread this so much, but I feel as if I still missed stuff. Oh well, here's hoping I got most of it!.

* * *

Dismemberments were bad, and the fact that she could reattach things did nothing to change that. It still hurt, and the food expenses were real, so yeah, dismemberments were pretty inarguably shitty. I mean, is there even such a thing as a good dismemberment? Not as far as she knew! After all, she'd been in hundreds of fights by now and not once had she heard someone be happy to lose a limb! No, it was always something like 'Oh god friend I'll save your mangled eye socket' or 'DOn't worry! We can try to sew your leg back on later!'

Still, while dismemberments were pretty terrible, they were also a lot like headshots, annoying when they happened to you, but cost effective when they happened to your enemies!

All in all, she didn't know how to feel about these particular dismemberments. Sure none of her party was injured, but it was only a matter of time! I mean, it wasn't that dangerous. Yet. But really? Exploding mole rats? Who comes up with this stuff?

Don't answer that.

Spontaneously explosive rodents aside, The Wanderer had never quite been in such a weird situation before. Sure, she'd done the sewers job for Moira, but even that seemed slightly more reasonable than whatever trippy shit was going on right now.

Trippy because they were some really big mole rats. It wasn't enough that they started off bigger than her dog and five times more terrifying, no, they also got bigger and bigger with every strike. No matter how big they got, the poor things never beat the stick though. Even when they were the size of a behemoth, one whack on the toes and suddenly they went from being an engine of destruction to a pile of giblets strewn across the room.

The fun didn't stop there though, because it wasn't just the mole rats that got bigger with every respawn. The explosions did too, and a little more visceral to boot. By the twelfth there was so much vertebrae and grey matter littering the floor that she could say with good certainty that if Butch were there, he'd have thrown up.

 _I guess I'm just glad that blood doesn't make me queasy anymore_ , she thought, she'd seen way too much of it by now. If she spent time complaining about it she'd be out all week. Or half a week, depended on whether the raiders got to her. Nah, better to keep moving and deal with it, in her humble opinion.

...Though it was apparently still weird to be as ok with the blood rain as she was. That was very much a Wanderer thing, as Butch would put it. (not that Butch was the best of sources. It's been established that he was kind of a sissy.)

Unfortunately, even after having had it for so long, she still didn't know what made the magic splodey stick work, only that involved drugs somehow, goodness knows it would've been one hell of a present to find out.

 _I'd kill for a human version, honestly, Moira's way too squeamish!_

Finally, after what seemed like hours of high tension whack a mole blood sport with periodic interruptions by a deathclaw, three talon mercs and a wastelander in a mutfruit outfit, a weirdly familiar noise rang out with the explosion. It was high pitched and rattled around her ears for too long for comfort, and she could've sworn it sounded just like an alarm clock, fitting, considering how bothersome it was.

 _Maybe it ate one, mole rats_ can _eat them, right_?

Still seemed weird though, she'd assumed that metal didn't do well with them after their first encounter. Then again, trying to eat a loaded gun didn't do well with anyone, especially when there was still a gunner on the other end of the trigger.

But by now they were _really_ big, like the marigold ant queen big, and although she might've come up with some projectile clock and mutagen theory for the alarms that were ringing out wherever she ran, deep down, in her heart of hearts, she felt that the truth was a lot simpler.

 _This better not be about sex._

As though the dream itself was recoiling with second hand embarrassment, the mole rats disappeared with a jolt and her eyes shot open to the cold grey of her room. Her alarm was going off shrilly in her ears, and dispelled any lingering fantasies floating around in her head as she rolled off the bed and attempted to turn it off.

It was harder than it looked, her room felt strangely foreign to her. She could swear it was smaller, more obstructed. Of course, that could always be her drowsy mind talking, she was like that every morning these days. No danger on the ship equalled no reason to wake up alert, so she didn't. While it may have left her stumbling around a bit, the extra sleep she managed to wrangle was honestly _so worth_ _it_.

Her early morning sojourn had left her tired though, and seeing as she was _still_ tired she decided to dedicate herself finding and deactivating that stupid alarm clock.

Sadly, her zombie like state had left that task a mite difficult, so she took the logical course of action and hit her head on something. Impacts woke people up, it was a fact, everything was going to plan, definitely not her tripping over. She never trips over, it's just that your feeble mortal minds that are incapable of grasping her technique- Oh who was she kidding. No really, there was no one else here, was she going insane? Wasn't talking to yourself supposed to be the first sign of insanity?

...whether or not she was insane, she could at least make out the numbers on the dial now, and it was… 7… Welp, at least she was already dressed, that meant she'd be able to spend the five remaining minutes getting ready as she'd already hidden all her political paraphernalia-

Her eyes then fell to the radio tangled around her feet.

 _Oh f*ck Natalia_.

Okay, so she'd hidden _most_ of her political paraphernalia. She still had time. I mean, sure, she'd look like a disheveled homeless person if she didn't brush herself up soon. But looking homeless was preferable to looking like a criminal- well, more of a criminal, anyway.

And so it happened that The Scout applied herself to the masterful art of shoving a five piece radio-set with way too many wires into an already full footlocker without damaging either it or her precious, little memories.

Seriously though, why were there so many cords? How did this thing even work? Did Natalia only associate with tech that was as hard to work with as her? Or was this originally supposed to be some kind of weird bonding activity with Natalia slowly telling her how to put two and two cables together.

 _Okay that last one's a bit unlikely._

Whatever it was it was really screwing her in the ass now. Congratulations Natalia, your preoccupation with ridiculous machinery is going to get your pet rebel court martialed.

Eventually, she somehow managed to get the thing in- probably could've been a bit more careful with it- but with her current time limit, there was no way she was gonna be able min max the radio in with the rest of her stuff in the next five minutes. So instead of worrying about it she punted the burst open box under her bed and desperately tried to wrangle her hair into some semblance of neatness before inspections got here. True, good impressions made barely any difference with her, but she had to take everything she got nowadays.

She'd just barely gotten her hair into a messy ponytail when she heard the door screeching open. Leaping of her bed with the grace of a charging yao guai- no, too graceful, more like a mirelurk out of water- she swept into a grand salute, greeting her inspector with all the poise of a good scout.

Hopefully, if she was poised enough, he'd overlook the messy hair and minor uniform infraction, and from there she could keep him from looking under her bed and seeing one more footlocker than a sister usually had.

It turned out she didn't have to, her hair was the last thing the inspector in question was worried about. In fact, he didn't seem worried about much at all, a trait that is generally frowned upon in inspectors but hey! She wasn't complaining.

Yup, not complaining at all. Massive lucky break after all. Spend half a day just dying to meet a vault dweller and then he just waltzes right in! Sure, it might've been so he could dig up dirt and end your career, but those were just details, minor details.

The real problem was how exactly she was supposed to befriend him. She assumed it would be kind of like begging for cafeteria scraps, except a lot more pleasant and dignified. Unfortunately, when it came to begging for food, The Scout was often left empty stomached on the side of the hall.

It was unavoidable really, considering how she was a murderer and all. As that specific career path tended not to leave the right sort of skillset for talking. Not that talking wasn't great and all, she'd love to do more of it! Really! But shooting was just so much less time consuming. Didn't have to watch out for getting backstabbed either.

Back then she hadn't given a second thought to words. It was really shooting her in face now.

...That wasn't to say that there was an actual chance of death, though that was probably obvious. But considering her brilliant track record at talking people down… well, lets just say that she wouldn't be surprised if she somehow messed up bad enough for dying to become an option.

On the other hand, social suicide was definitely a thing, but the fact that she was already a undead horse in terms of social relations did nothing to change the fact that she wanted to know this person. Taking that resolution to heart, The Scout boldly took the first step in transforming this awkward inspection into a totally not awkward two person circletime

"Hi."

"What is it."

Freaking fantastic.

"So, you're the latest inspector?" She stated casually, scuffing her shoes on the metal floor.

"Yup"

 _Well_ , The Scout thought, _he's not much of a talker is he? That's certainly not going to make this much easier._ Thankfully, as she inwardly deliberated over the best way to resuscitate this dead fish of a conversation Vaultie cleared his throat and asserted himself.

"My superiors seem to think that you have something in here".

"by superiors, you mean Danse and Maxson?"

"Who else would I mean?"

The Scout resisted the urge to sigh at that, while it was definitely disheartening to hear he was already referring to Danse and Maxson as his superiors, it wasn't worth showing open disillusionment over it. If anything else, he at least hadn't balked at her not using titles, it was a little weird, usually low ranked members like her would get yelled at for that, too many sergeants were in it for the glory these days, she hoped he wasn't one of them.

"No titles needed?"

"Danse doesn't seem the type to worry over that, he eats with the soldiers after all,"

While it wasn't the answer she was hoping for, The Scout was glad that he had answered at all. If he was an easygoing person who freely answered questions like that during _inspections_ then he'd be possible to deal with, even for her.

Deciding that now was as good a time as ever, The Scout continued on,"From me though?" She asked.

"Why would it be any different for you?" he replied quizzically,

 _He doesn't know_? She thought, blinking, _That's a shocker, you'd assume that word would get around. But now what do I do? Lie, or tell the truth?_

Ever the terrible liar believer in honesty being the best policy, The Scout went on to explain why exactly the thousand killer Lyons loyalist could possibly be seen as a ticking traitorous time bomb. Sans the history lesson.

As she spoke, she got the sense that, somewhere, somehow, a Scribe was crying, said Scribe always cried when she insisted on bring this up, The Scout maintained that it was better her than a bigot though, and even Natalia saw the logic in that.

 _So long as I… What was it again? Oh right! Use the opportunity to twist the stories to suit my needs and slander my enemies!_

This counted right? She'd been pretty honest, it might not have painted the best picture but she'd at least left out all the gory details. Granted it was mainly because she could hardly be expected to remember everything she'd done, but at least it left a good impression. Hopefully.

Vaultie, however, refused to show, his countenance as neutral as ever, surprising, considering his commander. Any usual man of Danse's would be narrowing their eyes already. Maybe she wasn't giving the paladin enough credit.

There was a moment of silence, as Vaultie contemplated what she'd said.

" _Do_ you plan on going traitor?" He asked, finally.

"Course not!" She exclaimed. She was kind of insulted that he'd even considered it! And even if she had, why on earth would she ever tell a person who was so obviously suspicious of her! Not that she'd lie or anything! Undaunted, The Vault Dweller continued in his line of questioning.

"Are you helping?"

"Sort of…"

"Then maybe they don't want you wasting their time" he sighed. The Scout bristled, indignant, she worked as hard as anyone else, at… Things.

"Like it's my fault that they won't give me a mission, I've been up here for years!"

"So that isn't your fault?"

"Why would it be!" She grumbled, almost throwing her arms to the air, "If I had my way, I'd be down there running missions for the settlements! Lord knows they need it, why am I sitting around being miserable up here when I could be helping them!"

"Helping them?" The man asked, eyebrow quirking. She was about to go on another tirade when she realized she was talking to a brotherhood knight, and here to inspect her no less.

 _Damage control damage control damage control_

"To prepare them for...uh… taxations?" She tried.

The Scout could've sworn that his eyes widened at the last word. She was a little confused at the reaction before realizing that, considering how new the brotherhood was to the commonwealth, it was entirely possible he hadn't been aware of their feudalistic policies.

Thinking that maybe she could turn this to her advantage, The Scout prepared to elaborate, but before she got the chance to say anything, Vaultie pressed on,"Help them with what?". He asked, clearly not buying her story about the taxations, not that she could really blame him, it'd been pretty flimsy.

Mind turning from the lost opportunity, The Scout raced to find any way she could answer the query, eventually settling on "Killing wildlife."

"But you don't."

"Because they won't let me!"

"Maybe you should do something here then."

"I _do_ do stuff up here!"

"Like?"

"I help with the cargo, and uhh, clean the toilets."

"Irreplaceable." he deadpanned.

The Scout's shoulders sagged, it was obvious that this wasn't going anywhere, and yet, when she looked at Vaultie's eyes, he wasn't upset, he wasn't even neutral, instead he looked- understanding?

After a long silence, he dropped the icy persona for a split second, quietly asking, "Do you really want to help the wastelanders?"

"Well of course," she said, almost without realizing it. The words leaving her mouth before she could ponder them. It had always been that way, really, you can take The Scout out of justice, but you can never take justice out of The Scout.

She was glad that that, at least, hadn't changed.

Evidently Vaultie thought that too. Nodding slightly, he turned towards the door to leave, "in that case," he sighed, "I'll trust you."

Relief promptly spread through The Scouts bones. Catching herself before she fell over, she did the only thing that she could think of and thanked the man. She'd've hugged him too, but hugging was unprofessional, probably the reason why the professional brothers tended to have a stick up their asses. Just couldn't hug their problems away.

As for Vaultie, he accepted her thanks, he seemed nice like that, which was why he probably ought to know the truth. hurrying herself before he left, The Scout called out to the man."Oi, vaultie!"

Halting halfway out the door and staring at her with a gaze equal parts confusion and offense, he responded " _Vaultie_!?"

She rolled her eyes at his scandalised tone,"yes Vaultie, there's something I need to tell you"

Dragging him back inside and bolting the door, The Scout turned to him and revealed her secret foot locker. He looked at it silently, the lights slowly dying in his eyes.

"There better be a good explanation for this" he demanded stoically.

Hearing the suspicion in the mans voice, The Scout stared down at the locker in silence, mind racing against her will.

 _Oh god I hope he understands, what am I even supposed to do if he doesn't!? Murder him!? Like I'd get away with that! where would I even hide the corpse- actually I could probably just throw it off the side of the ship- but that's not the point here!_

 _God I really did not think this through at all, did I._

"Well it's not that bad is it, I mean, it's just a-."

"A radio," He said, cutting her off, " it's a radio."

The accusation was implicit, "I didn't steal it."

"Then where did you get it?"

"I… Found it. In the wasteland."

It was a terrible lie and she knew it.

"Is that so?" Looks like he knew it too.

"Yes."

"Then why are you hiding it?"

She bit her lip as she considered what to say. There was a host of options to choose from, but this was shallow ground, good for crashing and burning and bringing it all. Eventually she decided it had gone far enough to throw caution to the wind and try honesty. It had worked last time, and trusting partnerships like she needed generally weren't built on lies.

 _So just wear my heart on my sleeve for five seconds, then,_ she chuckled _, this'll be fun_.

"Don't you know?" She started, words edged with bitterness she couldn't quite hide,"Brotherhoods got some really sticky fingers on them, tend to take things that ain't theirs.

Why yes, she was still bitter about them taking her pip boy and power armour. What gave it away?

"Besides the only thing else in there is photos." She shrugged, "Brotherhoods too hardass to let people keep some me-"

"It's fine," Vaultie sighed, cutting off her rant as he focused on a picture he'd noticed, "I get that."

Curious, she looked over the man's shoulder at the photo, it was an old one, seven people lined up, a motley crew of races, robots, animals and mutants, none of them giving a shit about photogenesis.

It'd been after she'd set up Amata at overseer, she'd taken the opportunity to snag a working camera or three. As the ones in the wasteland were all broken and colourless. None of the vault dwellers had been particularly skilled with art, so she'd taken it as a reward for her hard work.

 _Exiles pretty shitty on its own, after all._

Then, when Butch had almost gotten the camera broken, Mary had suggested that they splurge on pictures now before it got smashed, hence why there were nine of them.

Swept up in the sentimentality of the images, The Scout took a short look at Vaultie, noticing the ring on his finger.

"Yes," she said quietly, recalling the story of his dead wife, "I'm sure you do,".

Nodding, the man hid his ring behind his back and coughed his agreement.

"Anyway, you better get to drills" he said, pausing for a moment to glance at his pip boy time, before opening the door and gesturing for her to get through. Ever the lady, The Scout graciously exited her room and ruminated over the last few minutes of her day.

All in all, she thought it had gone well.

"Also that radio will break in under five weeks like that."

Very, very well.


	5. Down to Business

Disclaimer: I don't own Fallout.

* * *

It wasn't the drills themselves that were bad. Despite the entire point of the activity being for the instructors to nitpick people they either didn't like or didn't think were working hard enough The Scout found herself on the receiving end of surprisingly little abuse. Maybe because it was easy to blend in with the rank and file, or maybe because the instructors just didn't have the time to verbally beat down on any particular soldier, even one as disreputable as her.

No, It was after the drills, when everyone fell out and went to complete their assignments that things started to get troublesome- or rather, the off duty soldiers did.

With no battles to get to, and no offices to waste time in, the off duties usually spent the few minutes of lull after drills kicking dirt with their fellows. Often they'd leave it at that, sitting around, swapping war stories, discussing how best to haze the new recruits, but inevitably there'd always be that one hothead who decided that early morning was the best time to blow off steam on whoever they could get away with.

Of course, being a known enemy of Maxson's outcasts and an initial supporter of the second schism, she was a favourite when it came to easy marks, so the best she could do was just try and leave as quickly and quietly as possible.

She didn't always succeed though. After all, she was no longer the shadow sneak of the wastes, and on most days could hardly be expected to make it out of the mess hall unscathed. So when she saw the soldier from yesterday striding toward her from the corner of her eye, she could only bite back a sigh and resign herself to fate.

"Oi, hot stuff!" he yelled, pushing her back with a power armoured fist, "Fun trick you played yesterday! Did you know that Ingram had us sorting power armor the rest of the morning for denting our set?" The knight was incensed, not that The Scout could blame him, sorting power armour sets was the worst job outside of janitorial labour.

That said, she wasn't near sorry enough to just let him wail on her for an hour.

"I just wanted to know what was going on out there," she squeaked apologetically, putting her hands in the air and backing away a few steps. She'd hoped that such peaceful gestures would be more effective than any 'fuck off and let me bunk already,' gestures, besides, she didn't exactly see a point stoking the fires or anything.

Unfortunately, it seemed like stoking flames was all she could manage, as The Knight apparently took her passivity at the gravity of the situation as an insult, and this one in particular had him radiating irritation in waves.

"Then why-" he spat, enunciating each word with as much anger as he could, "-the fuck were you checking it by creepily shitting round behind us!?"

The Scout could've cried, in spite her attempts to defuse the situation, his anger had done just about the opposite of tapering out, leaving The Scout wincing, the sound of The Knights voice far too loud and far too close to her ears.

"Look, I'm sorry, ok-" she exclaimed, backing away a little farther, "happy?"

Thankfully, just as the man looked about ready to say he was far from happy, his cohort, also from yesterday, took him by the shoulder and dragged him away. Probably so he wouldn't wake the entire ship up with those roars.

As they stamped out of sight, The Scout got the feeling that this was far from done, The Knight still seethed with indignity, so much that she even felt a little scared. Getting hit with power armoured fist hurt, dammit, and if something like that happened, she couldn't expect anyone help her, so, survivor that she was, she did the reasonable thing and hightailed it, dodging stares and disapproving looks as she did.

She held her head down as she walked through the steel halls, stepping as lightly as possible to minimize the reverberations. The Cafeteria around her was alive with mutters, some for her, some for that knight.

Either way, she was sure that none of them were meant to reach her ears, but she couldn't particularly help eavesdropping, she'd always been too perceptive for her own good.

"...I don't wake up in the morning hoping to hear Akers yelling like a charging ghoul"

"Don't compare Akers to a ghoul, man, though I'll admit he was pretty loud."

"What was it about."

"He was pissed at somebody."

"Well, whatever it was I'm sure it was his fault…"

"...Trust her to start a fight. Why doesn't she take somma that spirit down to the institute?"

"You know why. You act like someone up here wants to take it to the Lone Wanderer."

"I dunno. Everyone always acts like she'd pull a runner, but wouldn't she've done it already if she was gonna."

"Ha, she's just waiting, just you see…"

"Waitin'? for what? Old age? Maybe you should just admit she's ain't a traitor."

"...wonder why she didn't just ask about the new guy though."

"Maybe she's a recluse."

"Why would a recluse join The Brotherhood?"

"Exposure therapy?"

"To wanton violence?"

"Hey, you know what they say about recluses, they're all psychos.."

Same as usual then, she thought tiredly, frowning slightly. Some were reasonable, some were cruel, some were just neutral, but all of them were complicated. Probably never would change, either, people were like that, more than a pack of ideals and loyalties that you could just write off and be done with.

She guessed that Natalia never heard any of this, she was married to the storage, after all. It was the only way she could say that killing people was all it took, that the best way out would be one where all these voices were silenced.

Obviously killing people wasn't gonna solve this- no, maybe it would, but it wouldn't be right to do that. They all had things that they could offer the wastes if they only got their heads outta their asses, so it was only right to give them a fair chance.

If anything, the only person it probably wouldn't hurt to lose was her, everyone already knew that murder was all she could offer, and everyone could do it themselves anyway.

Probably not as well though,I'll give myself that.

* * *

The Scouts thoughts were interrupted shortly after her departure with the drop of a steady hand on her shoulder, almost toppling her over for the third time that week.

Seriously!? How do they keep sneaking up on me like this!?

Her mind raced through the list of people the hand could belong to, flicking from Natalia, to any number of people, for a moment, she even wondered if The Knight had come up to pulp her, goodness knows she wouldn't be able to stop him.

Panic coursed through her veins at the prospect, tensing her muscles in case she really, really had to fight.

"Those guys making trouble for you?"

...It was Vaultie. Of course it was Vaultie. Who else would it be? There wasn't anyone else on this tub that gave enough of a crud to show concern. To be honest, she was a little worried at the blase act of kindness. His connections were way too important for him to be tainted by association with a nonperson like her.

It wouldn't do to be ungrateful though- her father'd taught her better than that. So instead of throwing his hand of like a jerk, she let the tension drain out of her and thanked the man, loading as much gratitude into the gesture as she could, still shook his hand off though. She wasn't that scatterbrained.

"Just a word of advice," she began, her tone respectful, "next time you see something like that, keep walking. You don't wanna get caught with someone like me,"

"A traitor?"

She blinked, before scowling "If you remembered then why'd'you help?"

Rather than giving her any kind of answer, Vaultie merely shrugged, watching her with sharp eyes.

The man didn't seem to have changed his mind about her, he was still as concerned- yet unreadable- as usual. Or maybe she just couldn't tell, couldn't rule it out with her people skills.

"Ah well." She sighed, putting it off for now and returning to her standard, sunny disposition, "Pretty convenient to meet you here, anyhow. Saves me the trouble of having to find you. Care to meet me in my room later?"

The man cocked an eyebrow, "You're not going to avoid the traitor point twice?"

"Ah-Ah! You need approval level one first," she stated, wagging her finger at him as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, before bubbly… Bubblily supplying "and you know how you get approval points! By doing stuff for other people, got it?"

With the deepest of sighs, the Vault Dweller relented.

"that's an awfully large amount of faith you want," He muttered before seeing her hopeful eyes and finally relenting "well, let's go then."

Score one for the puppydog face.

* * *

Once back in the familiar confines of her room, The Scout plonked herself onto the ground. it was a bit hard to relax with The Vault Dweller around, but considering she had more important things to work out than relaxing, she didn't hesitate to offer him the bed. Hospitality came first, right?

Oddly, instead of obliging, the man took a slow look at her room, sizing it up. Surely he didn't think he was in danger?

"Nice place." He remarked.

Or maybe he was just into home decorating.

"Bit bare in my opinion," she snarked, going along with his tangent for now, "could use a chair."

She shifted then, getting a bit more comfortable on the wall, "It's not like I could never ask for more, anyway. Friends already got her hands full just helping me get by" -not that she'd be doing much of that anymore, not after last night- " Besides, it's better than a lot of other peoples rooms, most people have to bunk- I still don't get how the others don't find my being alone suspicious, but maybe that's why they send so many inspections my way, but you'd know right-"

His interruption was blunt, "You said you needed me for something?"

"Huh oh what," The Scout mumbled, shocked at the sudden shift in topic, before smacking herself for getting sidetracked so easily. She was supposed to be leading this conversation dammit!

She almost felt like sighing at her own mess ups, even thinking that maybe letting Vaultie lead would be more efficient, he was clearly much better at this whole talking thing than her.

"I mean- like- OK. You know that The Brotherhood's in a giant indefensible blimp, right, wait- of course you do, you're on the blimp-" she stopped to catch her breath a bit. Screw her people skills- there was no way he was going to take her seriously at this rate. She was starting to wish she'd just pointed him at Natalia instead- but no, maybe that would've been too dangerous. Natalia was the reason all this could get underway after all, they couldn't just let anyone know about her.

"Anyway," she coughed, attempting in vain to smooth over the obvious pause "even though we have armour and stuff, there are still plenty of ways to go down- like- an explosion or something! -And if we do go down- for whatever reason- I don't think we have a plan to get everyone out."

"It's too well defended to fall." Vaultie stated, though he sounded mildly unconvinced himself.

"Not if the reactor breaks and the hydrogen converter stops working!" She exclaimed, "If that happens the entire blimp'll become a fire hazard."

"Besides," she said, "it doesn't even have to be an attack, it could even be a plain malfunction!" Even Vaultie had to give a grudging nod to that. It filled her with a sense of victory for about 5 seconds.

"Isn't the power armor supposed to help in situations like that?" Came the million dollar question. The Scout could barely keep the grin off her face, this was the checkmate after all, only the most foul would ignore it, and he wasn't even close.

"Sure," She said, grinning a little despite herself "but the kids don't have power armour."

"I see," Vaultie nodded, understanding lighting his eyes as he slowly took his place on the bed. "In that case, what do you intend to do about it?"

"I'm glad you asked."

Beaming, she proceeded to pull a restored poster out of her footlocker. It showed a person in power armour on a battlefield, urging people to fight. While the restored version of the poster sported a brotherhood emblazoned soldier, as opposed to the prewar one, the most important detail was unchanged.

It might of been a tad dramatic but it got the point across.

"See here?" The Scout said, gesturing to the corner of the poster, "This is what we need."

"Parachutes? That's… not a bad idea actually."

"I know right!" The Scout said enthusiastically, "God knows why Maxson doesn't already have a bunch, probably thinks it'll make him appear weak or something, but workarounds are workarounds- Now, since all the background info has been taken care of, why don't I tell you why I wanted to meet, already."

With a nod from the knight, The Scout began her proposition.

"Okay so Nat told me that the commonwealth is actually home to tons of different farms, these farms are based around the production of hemp, wool, cotton, yarn-"

"You want me to help you make parachutes by going to these farms for resources."

Startled at the interruption, The Scout fumbled on her words for a second, clearly, the man preferred getting straight to the issue, she'd have to remember that.

"W-well... yeah- if they want to, of course! Though we really do need them, so... yeah, an... attempt? Would be welcome."

Nice, totally not lame at all, she thought, almost groaning as she attempted to ignore the rude little voice in her head.

"Listen- whether or not you agree, I am begging you not to give this to the higher ups. They might take this as treason! Or worse! Agree and force the settlers to work with them like back home,"

"Force them to work?" Vaultie repeated, appearing both confused and concerned.

"You... thought I was joking this morning, didn't you?" The Scout realised, eyes widening, "about the taxations."

"That was serious?!"

"You think I can lie?!"

It seemed to take Vault Dweller a moment figure out the information, to factor this new image of The Brotherhood with everything else he'd learnt.

The Scout was happy to give him the time, she wasn't a fan of the taxes anyway, people barely had enough food for themselves in the wasteland, asking them to give up more was ridiculous!

Eventually, after having a full half minute to process everything, Vaultie continued. "Then what services does The Brotherhood supply in return for these taxes?"

The Scout snorted, "Does 'protection' count?" She scoffed, making sure to put air quotes around protection, in case he thought she was actually serious.

"I'd rather not work for a racket." Vaultie muttered. Apparently as upset with the sentiment as she was.

"Same," She nodded, "which is exactly why they can't know."

"Anyway, as I mentioned before, I want you to make sure it's their choice. We'll do our best to pay them, but we're not exactly rich... so yeah" She explained, wanting to make it as clear as possible that this was not forced labour, "Second, if you can manage it, you'll get caps, mods- whatever I can give really- even some music if you're interested, I bet Travis would pay a lot for some new tunes-."

"Isn't the music supposed to be a memento or something?" He asked, his brow furrowing.

She shrugged, "They'll be better out there with you or Travis than gathering dust in here. The person they belonged to would have wanted them heard."

After all, it was a sad truth that The Brotherhood would never give her the opportunity to use the records- not when they were relics of Three Dog- and she knew he'd be a lot happier if they were fighting the good fight out there. So she had no reservations in this decision.

As though sensing that, the Vault Dweller gave an imperceptible nod and finished

"In that case, I'll do my best.

* * *

Hey look a thing.


	6. Sanctuary

Disclaimer: I do not own fallout

* * *

Sanctuary hills always stank. Of radroaches, of bloodbugs and the foul smell of ichor. The viability of the settlements position only slightly made up for the stench of death that stuck to the town like glue.

It was sickening, but the people living inside the town had been living the waste for so long they couldn't even smell it. The only poor fool who hadn't grown used to it was the Vault Dweller, and he wasn't going to leave anyway. The call of home was too strong for him to resist for any reason, even a stench like that, so even though the smell annoyed him, he stayed.

He had to. Home was important. It was where the heart was, and even if his heart was the only upright thing in this ghost town, he'd still take it.

Besides, it was nice to have a place to come back to when there was nowhere else to go. It was his Sanctuary, if you wanted to be poetic about it.

Of course, when he'd selected the town, he hadn't expected it to become the hub of activity it was now. Just about every settlement he'd founded had somehow ended up connected to sanctuary, and when the provisioners ran, so did the profits.

Some would say that it was favouritism, the General of the Minutemen putting everything he had in his own personal radroach infested paradise, stealing commerce from people who needed it- even deserved it more, but the Dweller couldn't bring himself to care. After all, as far as he could tell, since he was the local leader around here, he was allowed the small privilege of having his home be the base to hub at.

Unfortunately, one of the unintended side effects of it being a hub settlement was that Sanctuary was now a high priority target, and that meant it required high quality defenses.

Luckily, when it came to defenses, there was no one he'd trust more with the safety of his home than his... Extended family. His very eclectic extended family. And assorted mercenaries. And raider gladiatorial fighters. And a super mutant.

In hindsight maybe having them _all_ packed up in here wasn't the wisest option, but it certainly made it easier to keep track of them, and god forgive him if watching them whine through those team building exercises didn't make up for it.

It also helped to have them all in one place for when he needed them. Travelling across the wasteland alone was dangerous, and the sole survivor didn't care enough for the name to travel without aid.

Not like his son was dead either, so he wouldn't be 'sole' much longer anyway. At least not without having a _lot_ to say about it.

But that came after, for now, he had a job to do, and some favours to earn from a brotherhood Scout. Favours that would give him an opportunity to get into the institute and save his son, and an way to do it without compromising his principles, too.

Honestly, he'd been a bit conflicted about working for them- the brotherhood- after he'd heard that speech on the bow. They seemed hellbent on eliminating ghouls and synths, and he hadn't wanted to choose between his friends and his son. That's why if there really were way to support The Brotherhood without abandoning Hancock or Nick, then there was no way he was going to give it up.

Resolve thus gained, he thought over each of his companions, considering which would be the best to take.

He'd left Danse back on the Prydwen, the soldier had had duties to attend to and he knew better to get in the way of that.

Besides, if The Scout really wanted this to be kept quiet, than taking a brotherhood paladin probably wasn't the brightest idea.

Piper was out for the same reason, he hated to say it, but war had taught him that sometimes secrecy was necessary. Meanwhile _Piper_ had taught him in their third bonding exercise that secrecy was _not_ her strong suit.

Nick and Hancock were both also out, of course. While the flak he's secured with Danse would probably get them into the Prydwen without being shot on sight, the last thing the Vault Dweller needed was negative attention… Okay maybe he also didn't want to put Hancock in hostile territory, because let's be honest here, Hancock liked antagonizing people a tad too much and the Vault Dweller was not going to let it get him killed.

Cait was out for obvious reasons. While she might've expressed admiration for The Brotherhood's considerable style, unless the knights appreciated hard drinking party irishwomen he doubted the lady was going to get him too many friends. Might even lose Danse some now he thought about it.

He hadn't been expecting Preston to _also_ be unavailable though. But his second was nowhere in sight, apparently he'd marched himself over to the castle while The Dweller was away.

While he was would have liked to assume that Preston just had business to attend to -what with his seemingly infinite array of troubles and tribulations- a small, uneasy, part of The Vault Dwellers mind flew back to the day he'd decided to join the Brotherhood.

It had been just after they had travelled into Kelloggs mind. His memories had shown that the only way into the institute was through a teleporter and a courser chip.

He, Piper and Nick had considered their options and decided the best option was the railroad. The Minutemen didn't have the technology, and the Brotherhood had cast a foreboding presence, so with Pipers help, they'd found the freedom trail and gone hunting.

They'd done their best, driven off all manner of mirelurk and mutant, but after a day of fruitless searching they admitted that maybe the possibly nonexistent group supposedly nesting in a secret lair at the end of the freedom trail was not their best bet.

Afterwards, Piper and Nick had headed to Sanctuary at his request, but The Vault Dweller hadn't joined The Brotherhood alone. Preston had had some raiders to end in the area so they'd rendezvoused at the Castle and set off together.

It had all gone well, aside from a few close shaves. They'd managed to down the raiders with minimal damages-The Vault Dweller not even having been seen in the chaos- then the cambridge radio signal had come in, and he'd had made to follow it.

Preston hadn't been happy with that, "You're needed elsewhere General. Let The Brotherhood deal with it's own problems,"

"I need to find my son." The Vault Dweller had replied, his tone firm.

"And do you need _them_ to do that why?"

"Preston..." He'd tried again, pleading this time, hoping to remind Preston that, before being a minuteman, he was a father.

It worked, with his friend ultimately having begrudgingly given him his blessing to go forward with joining the brotherhood. Or at least, he'd thought he had. Apparently Preston had taken it harder than he'd given credit for. Not that he could necessarily blame him, considering how the Brotherhood had turned out to be.

He shook his head, _anyway, with Dogmeat out of the picture- damn those mirelurks- that leaves Macready, Codsworth and Curi-_

"You've returned!-" exclaimed the robot in question, though her voice sounded...weird for some reason. different, smoother, somehow, he could swear the reverb was gone.

 _Oh well_ , he thought shrugging, _we can always figure it out later._

Of course, when he turned to face the robot properly, you could say his priorities might have shifted.

"Good to see you CuooaAAh-"

"Sir?" The _very certainly not a robot_ woman said, brow furrowing in worry, "Are you quite well?"

"C-Curie!?" he yelped, before quickly composing himself.

 _That's right,_ he thought, breathing deeply, _Curie's a synth now. A plaid wearing, mad scientist synth who talks like she's playing god_.

Well. There was no way _she_ was going to the Prydwen anymore.

"You look different,"

"Oh yes Monsieur! Don't tell me you forgot! I am _so_ sorry for having shocked you-"

"N-no problem Cu," He interrupted gently, smiling brightly even if he was a tad overwhelmed. He couldn't help being happy around Curie, even if her being in a synth body was just a little... disorienting.

"Truly? Oh well then. May I just restate how grateful I am for you having helped me into this body?"

"Glad it's working out for you."

"As am I," She beamed, "I can't believe that I was missing out on so much, all the sensory data is staggering! I really must show my thanks!"

"It was my thanks to you Cu," he said, chuckling, "but I do need some help."

"Do you perhaps wish for me to accompany you on another expedition!? I would be honoured."

"Sorry, not this time, Curie, actually, I'm looking for Codsworth-"

"Sir Codsworth?" She repeated, "I heard he was aiding in the efforts of the corn farmers. Perhaps try there."

"Alright, thanks Cu, keep up the good work."

"No problem monsieur," She crowed, "and remember, if you ever need some help getting something base atoms and scattered to the winds, I am just as capable of assistance as I was before!"

 _O-kay._

In hindsight, it would've been more helpful if he'd had Curie tell him which corn farm it was, but he wasn't going to hold it against her. He only had three anyway. May as well check up on them. Do the usual. Make sure dogmeat hadn't peed on the soil again.

Unfortunately, the first field was sadly lacking in Cosworths, but it made up for it by Macready's chosen hangout for the day.

Next to Codsworth, Macready was the only person he'd be able to take to the Prydwen, so getting some input from him would be just as worthwhile.

"Macready!" he greeted, jogging up to the mercenary.

"Hey."

The Vault dweller slowed at the blunt answer, usually Macready was a lot more...welcoming? For a merc.

"Anything wrong?"

"No." Macready said, his careful lack of any inflection indicating that something was indeed wrong.

"You know you can tell me anything."

There was silent for a moment, then he sighed. The kind of sigh his wife would make when he forgot the date and went partying on their anniversary.

Well. If there was one thing the war managed, it certainly whipped him into shape well enough.

...He'd think about the fact that he'd connected Macready to his wife later.

"Nah," the merc said, kicking a pebble into the cornfield, "it's stupid anyway."

"What is it you're worried about?"

Macready made an exasperated noise, "Fine," he relented, "If it'll make you shut up." he muttered, before continuing, "I just heard a thing or two from Preston."

"Oh," so that was it was. He supposed it made sense. Macready had already told him about how D.C was hot, but he guessed it had to have been more than that.

The Vault dweller knew how important a home was, and if he were in Macready's shoes he'd never look favourably on the people who forced him out of his own either.

The merc clicked his tongue impatiently, "Better question. Where are you headed now? You only ever come back here before you head out again."

"I'm off to go set up some trade routes." The dweller replied, pointing his thumb behind him, "nothing really,"

"Need help anyway?"

"Nah I'm fine," he said lightly, _don't think you'd want to anyway_ , "just keep an eye on dogmeat for me."

"Will do." The man assured him, taking a look at the nearby doghouse, "And just so you know," he continued quaintly, "about joining the fascist dictatorship. I get why you did it. I'm a dad too, you know."

"Yeah, I know."

Ah well, three more corn fields to go, hopefully the rest didn't leave such a bitter taste. Then again, he didn't really know why anyone else would care about the brotherhood, aside from Nick of course.

Thankfully, he didn't encounter the synth on his round, since Codsworth was in the next field he checked.

 _A bit convenient. Coulda popped up earlier. Ah well, it's pointless blaming anything for that._ Except god, but you could blame god for a lot of things by now.

"Codsworth," he called, waiting patiently as the mr handy chugged its way up to him.

"Sir? Do you need something." The robot asked, its three eye… things narrowing in concern.

He smiled, waving off Codsworth's worries."Just wondering if you were up for some travelling." He asked lightly.

"Of course sir." he said excitedly, relief evident in his voice. "When shall we depart?"

"Right now, bud. Need anything more?"

There was the click of a flamethrower, a whirring of blades, then "Only for you to stay behind me, sir"

The Vault Dweller laughed.

"Thanks for at least warning me this time."

The robot didn't notice the jab.

* * *

not completely happy. But i gave up. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

on another note. i wrote this a year ago (theres actually 70 drafted pages and 11 chapters in progress.). and coming back to it to finally edit it was soooooo bad like. i haven't improved much as a writer. But I know now that I have improved. Good lord.


	7. Two Knights

Disclaimer: i do not own fallout.

* * *

Coming back to the Prydwen like this felt like a defeat, even though he knew that it was nothing of the sort. He'd still found two out of the three settlements, so it was a slightly above average result if anything.

 _Slightly above average doesn't cut it._ Well, that was what he'd learned in the military, but The Scout didn't seem like much of a soldier. Hopefully she wouldn't care.

 _She fought in a war, though. So she's definitely a soldier, and I can't imagine a soldier who's never failed before._

 _Then again,_ He thought uncomfortably, _most soldiers who fail out there these days would die, so maybe she_ has _never failed before._

He laughed a little at the thought, shaking his head and ignoring the stares of the onlookers, _No, that would be insane._

After all, he was special forces, he knew the best -in some situations he _was_ the best. Everyone he knew had failed once or twice, the idea of someone who'd never...

-It didn't matter, wondering about it wasn't going to change the facts anyway. She'd just have to take what he could get, he could leave some of the reward behind, and they'd work it all out very amiably.

He was expecting roadblocks, disappointment, belligerence, perhaps even zealotry to stand in his way. What he hadn't been expecting was for The Scout to be completely absent, but that was what he got. The red headed scribe told him as much as he alighted on the ship.

 _After_ they'd sent Codsworth back home and found a secluded closet of course... A closet that also happened to be behind five shelves and painted the same colour as a night shadow.

These underhanded types were rather paranoid, weren't they. Well, it was probably reasonable, considering the circumstances.

As for Codsworth, well- it wasn't that he didn't trust him to do the right thing, it was just that sometimes doing the right thing wasn't the same as doing the smart thing, like being quiet. And 'quiet' wasn't really in Codsworth's dictionary so, well, he had to go.

"Sorry bud," he sighed, patting the robots metal shell with the silent regret of an old friend, "maybe take a vertibird?"

Codsworth chuckled, "No need to apologize sir," he said, his voice warm despite its robotic quality, "I'll meet you back home."

The Scribe watched it all impassively, eyeing them like a hawk until The Dweller pulled the door closed, hiding them both from sight or eavesdropping.

She wasted no time once he'd finished, "I trust you are the one who talked with my friend?"

"If you're friend happens to be a Scout." he replied geniality.

The woman nodded her affirmation, but returned no geniality of her own in the gesture, instead simply saying "She won you over, then?"

He coughed, "I don't know what you mean by 'won over,' but we've talked before."

She looked at him, her eyes filled with both apathy and suspicion, "What kind of talks?"

"Just a few jobs, nothing much," he said, shifting on his spot in hopes that she'd think it was no big deal.

Her narrowing eyes told him it hadn't worked. But really, it wasn't like he'd been expecting this to be easy.

"What kind of jobs," she repeated, dangerously this time, "it's not as though you have anything to hide."

He felt his own eyes narrow at the accusatory tone, she had no right to act like that to him, "You still haven't told me who _you_ are." he pointed out, voice edged with hostility.

She was silent at that, only regarding him with the kind of detached look you'd use on machines. He wondered why she felt that towards him. He was far from a machine, and he hoped she wasn't expecting him to curl up and beg just because she had a slightly intimidating presence.

The silence lasted a whole half minute, before the woman finally relented and said "I'm Natalia. Scribe of the brotherhood."

The air seemed to melt away, much like the surface melted away from an alaskan glacier in winter, "Nice to meet you Natalia." The Vault Dweller said cordially.

"Likewise." she nodded, before sighing, " _now_ will you tell me what exactly those jobs of yours consisted of?"

He shrugged, "She just had me setting up some supply lines is all." he said, shrugging.

"And did you follow through?"

"I wouldn't be standing here if I didn't." he pointed out.

Natalia was unconvinced, "forgive me for not taking the words of a stranger I've never met at face value."

"Likewise."

Silence, reigned again, the both of them sizing the other up. Her trying to place his level, him trying to place her trustworthiness.

It went on for far, far too long.

 _This is getting nowhere,_ The Vault Dweller realized with a sigh. There was too much hostility in the air -too much suspicion to move forwards, and it didn't seem like that was about to change, at least not if he left it to Natalia.

It looked like he'd have to be the bigger man here. Oh well, at least it wasn't too degrading -if this person really was a mutual friend then he shouldn't have to walk on eggshells like this in the first place.

Not that he'd give the whole game away, but there had to be a _few_ words he could divulge.

Eventually, he decided on "I just didn't see a problem with helping people, ok."

They appeared to be the right words to say, as The Scribe softened up almost immediately, her eyes losing just a little of their edge. Not as much as he'd have liked -it wasn't anywhere near trust, but it was better than nothing, so he counted it as a success anyway.

"It seems you two might be cut from the same cloth after all." she said, a slight, almost nonexistent smile on her face, "I thank you for your services."

"No problem." he sighed, leaning against the door.

"Though-," The Scribe noted, apologetic,"-I'm afraid she didn't tell me about the payment. You'll have to speak to her about that."

He nodded, _hopefully she'll have something_. It wouldn't be right for those settlers to work so hard for nothing.

"Before that I should tell you something." he swallowed, the slightest bit hesitant, "I couldn't get the University Point settlement on our side."

Natalia didn't seem offended, thankfully, though she did seem a little...perplexed.

"The university point settlement?" she echoed, eyes widening just a little, "You mean The Marsh Diner?"

"The restaurant with the silk?" he supplied. He'd heard that the settlement had sprung out of a blasted diner, but the only diners he'd found out there were…

 _Oh no._

"Yes, that's the one." Natalia sighed, seeing the look on his face, "She'll want to talk with you about that."

"Wait- I-"

She turned away, "I have nothing more to say. Do you know where her room is?"

"Why can't you just tell me?!"

"I'm not the one with the radio here," she growled, whipping around to face him, irritation plain on her face, "I don't know the details."

"How can you not know the details?!-" he exclaimed, his tone all but accusatory. It hit it's mark, The Scribes face twisting into a scowl.

"There is no truth but _his_ truth in here." she said sharply, "if you really want information, then I suggest you take it up with _her_."

With that done, she turned her back to him once more, and she stayed like that, silent and immovable, until The Vault Dweller felt the door close behind him. As he looked back one last time, he saw that she was facing him as well, and in the split second before she turned her eyes away, he could swear he saw a flicker of worry fly across them.

A person like that could show any feeling, any mask, and you could never be really sure of what was in their thoughts, but even knowing that, those eyes were enough to fill The Vault Dweller with a deep sense of foreboding.

The feeling increased when he found his way into The Scout's room. She wasn't there, of course, and although he'd been expecting that, he still didn't like it one bit.

Even so, he got the feeling that The Scribe hadn't lied, there wouldn't have been much point to it, so he waited for a whole fifteen minutes. But she still didn't show.

Obviously he'd have more luck looking for her himself. That's what he'd thought, at least, but he'd soon been corrected on that. The Prydwen was a big ship, after all. Easy enough to navigate when it was a _place_ you were after- but a person? Well, that was another matter.

The ship seemed to shift as he searched, changing from a manageable hulk of steel to a labyrinth of scouts and corridors, and it didn't take much for him to conclude that it was a fool's errand to assume he could find her alone.

It was unfortunate, then, that he only had one friend on the Prydwen, and that that friend seemed more than a little critical of The Scout.

As unlucky as it was, Danse was his only option. He was the only one The Vault Dweller could turn to at this point, and he was certainly easier to find. Just about everyone knew about him, and it didn't take long for one of the knights to point him to the cafeteria.

He was ashamed to say that it still might have taken him a while to find him once he was there in the mess. But in his defense, when they were all sitting in a line wearing power armour, you couldn't really tell two brothers apart.

"Paladin Danse?"

"Soldier?"

"I've got a problem."

"Really? Well go ahead." Danse grunted, making a space on the bench, "I'll see what I can do."

Instead of taking the seat, The Vault Dweller shifted on the spot, hoping that the unease in the gesture would win The Paladin over some. Danse only shrugged, taking the seat up again.

 _Rude_.

Then again, he was the one who hadn't sat down, maybe he was the rude one.

He shook his head, he could think about that later. "I'd rather not talk about it in public." he said apologetically.

"Why?" Danse questioned, "Is this against Brotherhood regulations?"

"No."

"Then why the secrecy?" he asked, and The Vault Dweller felt that if Danse hadn't been wearing power armour, he'd probably have been raising his brow right now.

"She asked for it."

"She?"

"I need to find someone." he clarified, if it could even be called a clarification. Truthfully, he felt guilty for the evasion, but he had his reasons, so he just tried to be as entreating as possible.

Luckily, Danse got the picture, "And they want it quiet." he sighed, nodding.

"Do you trust this person?" Danse finished, after a while.

The Vault Dweller nodded, "I do."

"Fine then," his friend said, pulling himself off the seat, "where do you want to go."

Natalia was gone by the time he brought Danse back to the secluded closet. Good thing too, meeting her here would've been... awkward.

He turned to his friend, "The person I want to find is-"

He stopped, realizing that he hadn't even learnt The Scout's name. "-... someone."

Danse grunted, "Someone. Helpful."

"I don't know their name-"

"-But you _still_ trust them?"

"They seemed trustworthy." The Dweller replied, shrugging.

"A lot of people can _seem_ trustworthy." His friend pointed out, "They might've just been a good talker,"

He suppressed a chuckle at that. "They were a _terrible_ talker."

"That's what they _wanted_ you to think."

He shook his head, "You're paranoid."

"Maybe-" Danse grunted, obviously taking irritation at his flippancy, "-because you've been collaborating with an unknown agent who you _can't name_."

"There was no way she was a spy." _Though she_ did _say she was a killer._

"How can you be sure of that?"

"Because I was sent to investigate her room."

Danse went quiet for a moment, looking at him. The Vault Dweller could tell he was putting the pieces together, even with the helmet.

"It's her isn't it?" he said finally, "The Lone Wanderer."

The Vault Dweller's eyebrows furrowed, "The what?"

"Currently a Brotherhood Scout. Used to be a freelance mercenary back in D.C." Danse droned it off like a rehearsal, point after point in cold monotone, "Participated in a war against Maxson but turned around on the tail end. Killed five paladins. Ringing any bells?"

Well, most of it did- "She killed _five paladins_?"

"And even more ordinary soldiers, it was a war."

"Even so-"

"You still want to find her."

"Yes."

More silence, deafening in the creaking ship, then- "Fine. I know people to talk to."

* * *

The first person was, surprisingly, Natalia. She played dumb of course, acted like they'd never met, like The Scout wasn't anything to her. She was a superb actor, but through everything she pretended not to know, when it came to the scout, he felt that she honestly had no idea. At least, he hoped so.

The first step in their wild goose chase, she directed them to Proctor Qunlan.

Qunlan was even less approving than Danse was, in fact, the mere mention of "the lone wanderer," seemed to have shaken his faith in the Paladin. It made The Vault Dweller feel guilty to sully Danse's reputation like this, but his companion had it covered.

"She might've finally deserted, we need to make sure."

-though not the kind of cover that he'd approve of.

Despite that, he held his tongue. Until Qunlan had given an approving nod and sent them off towards Proctor Ingram. It wasn't until they'd left his tiny office and cat far behind that he rounded on Danse.

"Are you trying to get her killed?" he snapped.

"I was just telling the truth."

"That wasn't the truth!"

The Paladin turned to him, "Just because you don't want to believe it doesn't change the facts. That Scouts a woman of honour, even if that honour is incredibly stupid. If she were planning to stay. She'd be here. The chances are she's deserted," Danse shook his head, "can only wonder why it took this long," he sighed.

The Vault Dweller held his silence, he was getting pretty good at it. The Scout would be proud.

Perhaps taking his silence as acquiescence, Danse continued, "Besides, you shouldn't associate with her, she's trouble."

"Because she's a killer."

"...Among other things."

"Things like what?"

"A traitor. She betrayed her own at the end of the war, even killed her own adoptive sister. You can't trust someone like that."

Danse's voice grew quiet "If she has no loyalty even to her comrades in arms, then how can we know if she ever really changed sides. Or how far she's willing to go in the name of what she believes in."

"You said she was a woman of honour."

"I also said that her honour was stupid. You can't trust an idealist."

The Vault Dweller felt his hackles raising at the remark, "Do you trust me?"

"I know you care about more than some moron's concept of good. That's more than enough to trust _you_." Danse replied pointedly, "But The Lone Wanderer is two steps away from being a zealot. She fights without thinking ahead. Killed people nonstop for two years and achieved nothing in the scheme of things." his voice dripped with spite, "She's a fool who blindly trusts in her ideals and can't think for herself. Don't ask me to trust _that._ "

* * *

' _Some morons concept of good,' huh._ The Vault Dweller didn't know if he'd call it moronic.

Wanting to help people seemed reasonable enough to him, and that was all she'd really wanted to do. Help people- no- not even just people, she'd wanted to help the Brotherhood. What was wrong with that?

Maybe Danse was right, maybe the problem was that she trusted too much in her ideals. Abstract concepts that you couldn't control or limit. But if those ideals were righteous, then that was fine with him. When you got down to it, he only blindly trusted in his fatherhood anyway.

When it came down to it, they were the same. Fighting for what they believed in, no matter what. But she was hated, and he wasn't. Probably because she was an abysmal talker.

She couldn't hide it, couldn't hide her beliefs, and she was hated for it. Hated because she was a danger because she just couldn't compromise her principles for Maxson, just couldn't blindly swear loyalty to a figure like that.

In the end, she was hated because she asked a question. "Are Maxson's ideals really righteous? Or mine?"

He didn't know the answer, not really, but he could still say one thing. To understand that, he'd have to see it for himself.

He'd find out what happened soon enough, after all, they'd finally reached their destination.

 _Yeah,_ he thought, staring out at the cluttered open space of Ingram's lair. Ringed with power armour and bustling with engineers, _maybe I'll finally get some straight answers._


	8. Waking Up

Disclaimer: i do not own fallout.

* * *

The Vault Dweller hoped that cutting the paladin loose hadn't damaged their relationship too badly, Danse was his valued friend and superior -and a good man, too -but The Vault Dweller didn't know if he was in the right here.

Honestly, even though she'd lied to him, he couldn't bring himself to think that The Scout- or The Wanderer he guessed- was as bad a person as the everyone else seemed to think.

Then again, maybe it was just wishful thinking. It was a well known fact that, despite his skills in a fight, he really preferred peaceful solutions more than unnecessary bloodshed. That was why, to him, taking a person who had such a hostile stance towards his target was impossible. It would be the same as asking for a fight.

That was why he had to leave him here, and though it was a regrettable outcome, he hoped that their friendship would come through.

More important was the missing Wanderer, and the fact that he had no inkling where to look. It was only after he'd already been been roaming the ship four a half hour, asking people about the last that they had seen of her, that a realization struck him.

He'd been asking the wrong people really -half of the people he'd talked to didn't know a thing about her, and the other half gave him uncomfortable looks at her very mention. He'd been exasperated at how many enemies she seemed to have, when he realized he should've been thinking of her friends.

Well, her _friend_. He only knew about one, after all.

* * *

When he got there, the storage bay was bustling with people, and The Vault Dweller felt more than a few eyes on him as he crossed the bay to Natalia.

 _Being watched like this'll be a problem_ , he realized, considering whether or not he should ask the Scribe if there was a better time. Luckily Natalia seemed obliging, he didn't even have to say anything before she pushed through the scouts and led him into a more secure area.

"I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon," she said finally, pulling the door closed with a sigh.

"But you did tell me to go see the wanderer," he said, giving the words a slight edge "who I'm assuming you already knew had deserted,"

Evidently, the scribe had not known, if the tumbling sheets and strangled noises that escaped her at the information were any indication.

"She did _what_!?" she sputtered, her expression growing more furious by the second, "is she suicidal?!"

"Apparently"

His blunt answer seemed to drain all the fury from her face -turned it white as it dropped and made it grim.

It seemed to take her a while to discard that face, to turn it into something composed yet unreadable,

"So what do you intend to do about it?" she asked quietly.

The Vault Dweller slowed. Her question -no, her expression, it made him uncomfortable. After all, unreadable expressions never meant well, only that the person had something to hide, and if this scribe was hiding something then...

 _She almost definitely knows where The Wanderer is_ , _but she won't tell me_.

Perhaps she was suspicious, he'd have to sidle his way onto her good side then.

 _Probably best to start with something non confrontational, then_ , "talk it over?" he tried.

"For your sake I hope that's it." The scribe replied coolly, letting a sliver of hostility through her mask "It would be greatly beneficial if you tried _not_ to kill her."

"Well if she attacks me I can't really help it."

There was a scoff, "If she attacks you, you were probably being a fool anyway," Natalia retorted, crossing her arms "besides, considering all that I know of you is that you kill people for a living, caught paladin Danse- of all people's -eye and are at best ambivalent to our cause, I'm not exactly confident that you'd give her much of a chance."

He said nothing. Though her gaze had become critical, he refused to back down, somehow, he felt that he wouldn't gain any points by appearing weak willed now.

 _Perhaps I should tell her that I don't agree with Maxson? That would make her think I was on her side, hell I might actually BE on her side one day._

Unfortunately, loyalties aside, he really had no way to prove that claim, instead, he proposed a deal "How about this," he said, putting on his most shrewd expression, "you can _pay_ me to bring her back."

That seemed to give the woman pause, and after a contemplative moment, she rose to the bait- "What would your price be?"

"Your trust."

He knew he'd messed up when he saw Natalia's dumbfounded look, it was a small, easily discarded thing that was there for one moment and painted over with a smile in the next, but The Vault Dweller could feel something grim beneath it.

"After all this," she muttered, her smile turning brittle "you truly I could just easily hand away something like trust."

The next thing he knew, she'd pulled out a gun, putting the sole survivor of vault 111 face to face with the barrel of a laser pistol. The silence was deafening, as if all the weight in the air had been converted into pure adrenaline.

Adrenaline… yes, that must have been why the world had slowed to stop like this. Why even though his heart raced faster than anything, everything still seemed so slow.

Not slow enough though, not enough for him to escape, to move away or do anything to fight against what was going to happen.

And amidst all that, the faces of his wife and child sprang to the forefront of his mind. Would she be glad to meet him, wherever she was? Knowing that he'd failed to save their child? He wondered about that, his wife was a warm person, after all, and a part of him knew she'd forgive him for anything, even this. Even though he wasn't sure he'd be able to forgive himself for failing like this, he knew she would, even if he didn't deserve it.

It just -he'd just been so close! -He'd finally found someone who would be willing to help him fight the institute -finally found the whereabouts of his son! Finally found out what he could do, what he was willing to die for -but it wasn't the institute he was staring down right now, just some scribe who mistrusted him enough to kill him without any real good reason.

It was just too much, and he couldn't speak for the weight of it, merely stared into the barrel of the gun that would put an end to him, and waited ...until the moment passed.

...

...

Wait -why had it passed?

As though to answer his question, the scribe seemed to counter his thoughts with a query of her own "are you not going to keep me from shooting?" she asked, a measure of confusion in her voice.

"Why aren't you killing me before I can?" He asked shakily, uneasily directing his gaze from the gun to its owner.

"Who cares why? I'm about to shoot you."

"Then why do you care what I do?" he muttered, his voice slowly gaining strength "I couldn't stop this now."

 _She's not saying anything, I must be onto something_.

"This-" he started, not quite confident but somewhere close, "this isn't an attack."

He caught her shocked expression just seconds before it was painted over, for him, that was as good as confirmation.

"Interesting conclusion," she said, "considering my gun is currently an idle pull away from reducing you to ash"

"But you won't" - _because this is a test, not an attack_.

The Scribe was far from placated, and her form was still rife with mistrust. Despite that, she relaxed just slightly, as though to tell him that she was now open to talking with him.

Feeling glad for that openness, haltingly, he explained that even if she did shoot, the brotherhood would be on her in moments. Since he was armed, the suspicion would be on her, so in the end, her killing him would only result in attention that she couldn't afford to attract if she wanted to continue her efforts.

"Not to mention there'd be no one left to save your friend," He finished.

The Scribe was unshaken, though she seemed to accept his reasoning, and withdrew her weapon, The Vault Dweller gave a sigh of relief and allowed himself to relax a little.

"That wasn't the answer I was hoping for," Natalia sighed, disappointed, leaving The Dweller wondering what on earth she _was_ hoping for, "nevertheless, you raise some valid points, so I'll take you up on your offer. As for the payment" She continued, tapping the gun against the wall "You'll get this. You probably won't find another pistol as heavily modded as this one is, and altogether it's worth about a thousand caps."

"Deal," The Vault Dweller said quickly, not even considering it. Honestly, he was just glad he hadn't been shot at this point.

He didn't really need the gun anyway, he wasn't fond of energy weapons, since they couldn't be silenced. Something like that would only hinder him. Rather, it was the information that the scribe had that was of value.

"Now where is she?"

"The settlement near university point, most likely," Natalia provided, not even needing to ask what he was talking about, "most of the brotherhood's been up in arms about it."

"You mean the one I couldn't find" he deadpanned

Exasperated, the scribe grabbed his left arm roughly punched the coordinates into his pip boy. The process was all rather awkward, so in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, he inquired about something that had bothered him about her previous statement.

"They haven't been talking about it much, at least when I'm around." After all, he'd been wandering the ship for hours and had heard nothing of this supposedly huge news, it made no sense.

Natalia was quick to answer his question. "Well, Elder Maxson did set up a gag order on any discussion of the topic, it does not keep the soldiers from gossiping, but I imagine they keep it to themselves."

The Vault Dweller almost shook his head at how ridiculous she made it sound. The way Natalia was describing them, it was like the Brotherhood was a pack of animals squawking their heads off until the moment he walked up, upon which they turned into any cagey soldier they _should've_ been. He'd thought of them as more dignified than that.

 _Though I guess it makes sense, really. You'd go crazy if you had to act like that all the time. Everyone's gotta act natural sometimes, saw enough in the war to know that._

 _Still,_ "I can't imagine what they'd need to hide…" he trailed off, looking towards Natalia in clear expectation for an answer.

She smiled, but it was brittle. There was no humour in it, "Well I won't deny you," she said grimly, "though you won't like what you hear.

He sighed, "it can't be that bad."

* * *

It was _that_ bad.

Not the kind of bad that would make him regret a decision, of course. He was glad he'd heard it, it was just that now there were _other_ convictions he was starting to regret.

He could still remember the moment when Natalia had told him, the way he felt the blood leave his face with that lovely accompanying sinking feeling in his chest, as he was forced to take a moment of precious silence to even comprehend what she'd said.

"A squad of brotherhood troopers heard rumours there was a synth there. So they burned it down."She'd explained, almost cavalier about it, as though she hadn't realized that she'd just reported on the murder of an entire settlement, "since they knew there was a synth there," she continued, ignoring the rising horror in his gaze, "they branded them all sympathizers for not letting them take them away. The Brotherhood doesn't fancy such people."

Now the words, the words, he'd understood immediately. It had been putting them together that had been the problem. Stringing together a sentence that defied everything he'd seen… and yet it had to be true because he'd seen the charred ruins himself.

A settlement. Dead. By the Brotherhood. A settlement.

 _I was supposed to protect them…_

He'd repeated it after that. Weak, hoping for anything but a confirmation. Hoping that he hadn't just learned an entire town had been snuffed off the map just for the crime of association.

"Indeed," Natalia had instead replied, not a spark of mercy in her eyes, "though whether they were justified in destroying the entire settlement is up for debate, and our friend no doubt left in search of answers."

"In what universe would something like that be up for debate?"

"Only a fool thinks that you can get by in this wasteland without murder," the scribe had snorted, unimpressed, "if those settlers had been with the enclave, no one -not even that Scout -would have complained."

"Even so, they deserved the benefit of the doubt."

After another moment, Natalia had agreed, "Of course. That's why she went."

They hadn't spoken again after that, merely exchanged wordless nods before parting ways.

The Vault Dweller had shuffled off towards the hangar, the abhorrence of the act still not quite registering to him, and the scout had gone god knows where.

These were the people he'd joined, he realized, as he trod down the cold steel corridors of the Prydwen, a pack of murderers and invaders.

More than ever, The Vault Dweller realized how much he needed to know what exactly had happened, how much he had to see it with his own eyes. If there was any chance that the information was false- or overblown or something, he needed to see it, because if not, there was no way he could stand with them. To support the kind of people who'd destroy a town out of association was more than he'd be able to bear with. Even to save his son.

Riding on the desperate hope, he made his way to the hangar and began his vertibird trip down to the commonwealth.

* * *

For a few moments, The Vault Dweller tried to find solace in the whirring of the vertibirds blades. It wasn't just the safety of it, or the ease of gunning someone or something down from high in the sky, but also just the noise. It surrounded you in sound and at the same time made everything quiet, and in that silence he found something else to focus on and calm his nerves. On days like this, where it felt like he was floundering, he could always just ignore it and focus on the blades and his immediate surroundings.

The fact that said immediate surroundings may or may not also be integral to his survival was gently reminded to him when the vertibird was rocked by a sudden impact, nearly sending him tumbling off the chair and into the sky.

 _These things definitely need restraints or something. This is just begging for someone to fall out_.

Just slightly annoyed at the near death experience, he looked towards the source of the disturbance with full intent to passive aggressively glare at it for the duration of ride. But when he saw what -or who it was, his anger immediately evaporated, replaced by the barest hint of relief.

"Danse?!"

The paladin nodded, "I trust you wouldn't be against me joining you for this mission."

Honestly, he'd've liked nothing more than to instantly agree. Whatever the rest of the Brotherhood may have been, he knew that Danse was a good man at heart, and it was already great to know that Danse was still willing to associate with him after having received an ultimatum like that, and knowing that he tolerated him enough to travel with him would put a stopper on his anxieties. Unfortunately, it wasn't that easy, not when The Scout's life was at stake.

If The Vault Dweller had been absolutely sure that Danse wouldn't cause trouble, it would've been a different story, but even if Danse was offering to come along so amiably now, The Vault Dweller also knew that it would take someone more than two hours to change their opinion of a person.

 _If I bring him along, it could go badly_.

But even though he knew that, he still couldn't resist it. In this new world, it was always better to travel with a friend, and for all he knew, Danse would even be able to shed some light on the situation at the settlement. All he needed to do was make sure that his hostility didn't cause any undue conflict.

 _And hey, if Danse was sitting here asking me for permission instead of just flying down on his own, then maybe he has some respect for me, if that's the case, then this might not be so hard._

Even if it was a vain hope, it was enough to follow through on.

"I'm not doing this on orders," he started, not wanting Danse to come on obligation -or worse, be thinking he could pull rank.

"I'm aware of that."

"Then you're aware that this won't be a 'shoot first' affair."

"...Yes."

"And you're aware that I'm calling the shots." he said, lowering his tone to make sure the paladin had no illusions.

Truthfully, while he felt a twinge of fear at what taking such an uncompromising position would do to their friendship, the chances were that if Danse was unable to accept things like mercy and respect than their relationship would be a short one either way.

Thankfully, his fears were groundless, as Danse accepted his final condition without complaint, though he still seemed just a little disgruntled.

"I'm just here to make sure you don't die out there." Danse grunted, finally chafing a little at the interrogation, "Now will you let me on?"

He couldn't help but smile, "It'd be a pleasure, sir."

* * *

This one always comes easier than the rest. i guess thats why you plan things out, huh. Still glacial though.


	9. Mistakes

Disclaimer: I do not own fallout.

* * *

Danse wasn't big on stealth, he posited that taking the vertibird right above the settlement and jumping down like some kind of human meteor, guns blazing was the best course of action.

Of course, Danse didn't refer to it as 'jumping down guns blazing', rather, he referred to it as a 'tactical entrance', but The Vault Dweller knew that the proper name for it was 'suicide.' Luckily, Danse wasn't in charge of this particular escapade, so in the end the two landed a short, safe distance away from University Point instead.

As they made their way to the skeletal settlement The Vault Dweller made sure to mentally curl himself into a ball and store all his thoughts of Curie and Nick into the deepest, most pacifistic and understanding recesses of his mind in preparation for the coming storm. They were different, after all, Curie had only become a synth recently, and Nick was completely sentient. If they were ever forced into such a slaughter, he had faith that they'd choose to do the right thing.

Perhaps if the first generation ever attained sentience and made the same choice, they would also choose to protect others. He had to believe in that fact, even in a climate like the brotherhood's, for the sake of his friends.

At least humanity's capacity for violence is already well documented, makes it something far easier to believe in.

Surprisingly, however, he wasn't the only one who was being quiet. Danse was also staying silent, which was unexpected. Considering his usual fervour when dealing with the institute's crimes, The Vault Dweller had been expecting him to be more outspoken in regards to what the institute had done to the area, but he seemed rather tight lipped all in all.

The silence even convinced him to relax for a while, walking down the building and occasionally picking up some of the used salvage- before the bullet ridden institute synth frames that had been destroyed in the incursion came into view and promptly opened the paladin's floodgates.

"You see this?" He exclaimed, pointing accusatorily at the metal corpse "This is what happens when humanity's destructive impulses go too far. How many people died here, too these things"

"They don't have free will Danse."

"The very fact that weapons like this exist is enough to warrant their destruction." Danse continued sternly, no doubt noting his disinterest. "These things can kill and build each other. An army like this could destroy all of humanity"

"They actually said the same thing about protectrons 200 years ago."

"Really?"

"Yes, but they still use them."

He appeared to mull it over for a second, before his voice darkened,"You trying to say something?"

"Don't know." The Vault Dweller replied innocently.

On the way out, they walked past five more synth frames, but no one said anything. He didn't know whether to be relieved or worried about that.

Unfortunately, as time went on and they walked through more and more ashes and destroyed buildings, The Vault Dweller wasn't sure if he preferred the oppressive silence. It allowed the thoughts and implications of the world to crowd his head, confusing and depressing him, and the empty air soon began to lend itself to paranoia, to the point that every stray sound and shadow seemed to contain infinite enemies. Before he knew it, The Vault Dweller became desperate for conversation, despite himself.

"I will say one thing, though." he breathed, hoping he wasn't being too transparent, "they sure are efficient..." he said, gesturing to the emptiness of the town around them. Just a few months ago, there had been people here, but aside from the synth bodies, there was no sign anyone had ever lived or fought or died here.

Danse seemed to realize what he meant without needing clarification, "It's probably because they use lasers." he explained, "It would've vapourized any evidence."

The Vault Dweller mused on that for a moment, it was true after all, he'd seen laser weapons vapourize his enemies more than once on the battlefield, but even so, it didn't account for this kind of destruction. The institute had come here with the intention of salting the earth, and it showed.

"If it's just the lasers at work here-" he noted casually, "then I guess the brotherhood would be just as efficient."

Danse scoffed at that, "The institute destroys everything," he said, spitefully kicking the skeleton across the dusted courtyard, "but the brotherhood knows not to waste anything, we're nothing like them."

"Even so," he added, voice grim, "If those soldiers attacked the settlement with the same intentions as the institute… then it might be hard to find out what happened. Whether to exonerate or condemn."

The Vault Dweller felt his brow furrow, "I'd like to imagine that soldiers of the brotherhood wouldn't take such intentions."

Danse sighed "So would I."

* * *

The area was just as he remembered it, all broken buildings and and burnt forestry. The fact that people had once lived in the vicinity seemed impossible, but he guessed you could say that for the whole wasteland.

It only took half an hour of walking through this devastation for them to reach the settlement. It looked like any other part of the wasteland, just burnt homes and charred bones, the ashes of the people who had lived there having long since blown away in the wind.

When The Vault Dweller had first passed through there, he'd assumed it was just that, just another part of the desolate country, but now, looking closer and knowing what he knew, he could see a few signs of life.

Peeled paint, oily and damp from neglect, the charred cinders of a tato harvest in the garden, a blackened doll for a blackened cott inside a haphazard metal shack of a house. All burned black and cinder.

Furthermore, closer inspection of the burns revealed that it was the result of concentrated flamer fire, meaning that, whatever had happened, it had lead to the brotherhood or settlers to have purposely torching their own houses.

It made him feel sick.

Truthfully he would rather not think on the implications over some of these, over the actions of the people he'd joined, he had to find the truth first, not only on what had happened, but also what it meant.

I know that there are good people in the brotherhood, there's a good person right next to me.

...I wonder what he thinks of all this, he thought, stealing a glance at the paladin, who was striding off into the town with an air of grim silence, his thoughts would be invaluable in judging what happened here.

Even so, he was still hesitant to broach the subject. If he did, it would be unsteady ground from there on in regards to their relationship, and while the two owed each other their lives several times over by now, those kinds of debts wouldn't hold weight if the paladin started to think of him as treachorous.

Danse is my gateway into the brotherhood, a small, conspiratorial voice in the back of his mind noted, he's the only reason they look on me as more than another recruit. Do I really want to alienate that?

But, yet another voice noted, if he really thinks the worst of what happened here, and everything is as the scribe said, do I really even want his help?

But if you lose favour in the brotherhood, you may never find Shaun. Is it worth it?

'Is it worth it?' That question was really what all of this was about, wasn't it. Was his son worth the wasteland? Worth Nick and Curie and all the other people who the brotherhood stood a possible danger to -worth all of the settlements and lives that might be destroyed if he stepped wrong here?

Well when you say it like that, he thought, nearly chuckling to himself, I've already decided haven't I. From the moment I chose to risk my life saving those Minutemen, rather than protect it so I could find my son, I'd already set my priorities in order.

In that case, I have to ask. That thought in mind, he steeled his shoulders and got Danse's attention.

"So" he began, hoping that his cordial tone would make it sound less like an accusation and more like curiosity, "what do you think of the fact that it was apparently Brotherhood men that did all this."

"That?" Danse scoffed, quickly and without hesitation, "That's easy. They're dead."

The Vault Dweller blinked, surprised at his merciless condemnation, "Huh?"

"-Well, maybe not dead," Danse continued, ignoring his outburst, "but they're getting well beyond a court martial at this point. Unless there's a fact that proves them innocent hidden here somewhere."

The Vault Dweller continued blinking.

"They'll have a trial of course," Danse continued, no doubt taking his dumbfounded silence as approval, "but between you and me, it's impossible to get away with something like this," he explained, gesturing at the burnt husk of a farm. "Unless there's some hidden piece of evidence here that proves that they were framed or someone else did this, they're -well -dead, or at least in for a lifetime of incarceration."

The Vault Dweller couldn't even interject, having not really been expecting that. Both the scribe and the scout had told him that Danse was the kind of man who was flawlessly loyal to the brotherhood, to hear him condemning his own men like this...

Maybe these guys aren't so bad, he thought, ecstatic, before souring, though that doesn't explain why The Wanderer is so critical of them, maybe there's more to this.

Or, he thought, souring, maybe Danse was right, and she was lying the whole time.

He shook the thoughts from his mind, as they were hardly important right now. They had to find her before they could poke those kinds of holes in a story, "then are there any circumstances where the brotherhood could justify this?" he asked instead, curiosity and hope burning in equal measure.

"Of course there is. We're an army, do you think that armies that come up on a village can just ask the people to leave nicely?"

"Well, that's true." The Vault Dweller admitted, the short lived flame of hope sputtering out under the cold weight of reality. He'd been in an army himself, after all, and while he'd have liked to think that war crimes like this never happened, back in the resource wars, any chinese had been game. They were all the enemy.

But maybe that was wrong back then too, he thought uncomfortably, maybe the chinese were just people who didn't want to fight. Like us... like this settlement.

All the more reason to avenge them if what the scribe said is true, I suppose, though it's good to know the brotherhood would stand with me in that decision.

"-Then what kind of justifications does the brotherhood accept?" he probed, eager for more of the information that Danse seemed to so easily give, "Other than the usual."

"Well that depends on what you'd classify as usual," Danse replied quizzically, "though I can definitely tell you that they'd need to define the entire settlement as an enemy combatant. But that'd be difficult these days-"

"Because everyone who lives in the wasteland needs a weapon." The Vault Dweller finished the paladin's thought for him.

"...Exactly." Danse affirmed, directing at him what The Vault Dweller assumed was a stare "People can't survive without weapons, so you can't define a civilian just by their incapacity for harm anymore, they'd need to be ideological enemies."

So a village of synths or ghouls, The Vault Dweller thought, deflating, well I expected that much. It seems like they won't shoot any old wastelander, at least.

"Of course," his friend added with some consideration, "the other option is if the settlers attacked them with the intent to harm, but…"

"But?"

"Even if the entire settlement did attack them, we'd still need to punish them."

"What! Why?" The Vault Dweller, exclaimed, almost coughing up a cloud of ash in his shock. Why would they do that, it would be cruel to their own soldiers?

Danse went silent at that, for a moment, taking a long look at the burned rafters and ashes in the wind.

"This reminds you of university point," he said, gesturing at the desolate houses, "-doesn't it. No, maybe a little less efficient."

"Don't change the subject."

"I'm not changing it. I'm just pointing out that the people of the commonwealth have been dealing with the institute -with shit like this- for generations," he explained, holding no spite back from his words "After dealing with that, it's only natural that they'd see an unknown like the brotherhood as dangerous."

"What happened here-" he added, an earnest tone edging his voice as he turned to the town around them -to the peeled paint and the burned dolls and everything that made The Vault Dweller sick "-will only make them see us as enemies when we're only here to help." at that point, the earnestness dropped from his voice, replaced by a cold hard determination.

"That's why if someone threatens them -even one of our own- and shows them such a ...problematic side… they need to be eliminated. Publicly."

He stopped there, with a feeling like the world letting out a breath, after all, it wasn't often that soldiers had to let out an oratory like that.

Even so, The Vault Dweller wasn't impressed. Not that he was angry with Danse or anything, after all, the paladins heart had clearly been in it, but he just couldn't take a speech like that at face anymore. Not after the old world and its 'glorious wars' of cannon fodder.

Strip away all the paint and when you get down to it it's not about the wasteland, he thought, gut sinking, It's about their image -their image as an organization who'll defend the commonwealth from the institute. For the sake of that, they'll prioritize the wellbeing of the people above even their own soldiers. Just or not.

It wasn't exactly a bad policy, in fact, it would be ideal in keeping the brotherhood from devolving into war crimes the way the government had during the resource wars-

"-But that's all just pretense isn't it."

"Huh?"

"Once this is all over and the institute is done with-" The Vault Dweller continued, locking onto the paladin with a piercing glare, "-what'll you be defending the wastelanders from then?"

"The super mutants and raiders and every other danger in these parts," The paladin answered, staring at him like he'd just grown a second head, "seems pretty obvious really."

The Vault Dweller raised a brow, "not the Minutemen?"

"Of course not," Danse said quickly, so quick that The Vault Dweller couldn't tell if it was rehearsed or not, "by the time we're done, the wasteland'll be safe enough that there won't need to be any wastelanders risking their lives as Minutemen anymore."

* * *

Having traded their thoughts on the debacle, the two took to the search in an orderly fashion. They separated the jobs, hoping that by leaving Danse to take to searching the houses, while The Vault Dweller had taken the backyards and road that said houses were lined up along they could get results faster.

Of course, a hope was far different from a reality, and although said road had been rather short, with failure after failure mounting on their shoulders, it was starting to feel all too long.

"See anything that wasn't here last time?" Danse asked for the umpteenth time, head sticking out from the latest house.

The Vault Dweller shook his head heavily, worries already weighing darkly on his mind. The two had been searching for any clue as to either the incident or The Wanderer's whereabouts for an hour already, but to his consternation they'd found nothing on either.

"No worries," Danse sighed, noticing his distress, "we've still got a few houses to go."

Figures it'd be the last ones, The Vault Dweller thought, groaning at the tediousness in spite of the attempt to relieve him, but at least he has a point, there's still chance of something important in the next few, so it's too early to give up hope.

That thought in mind, he began taking to the next houses backyard, he'd already given the makeshift road a lookover at least twice, but there was a chance that he'd missed something in the yards. That was when he saw the graveyard, it's lined memorials and burned fences pulling his attention and holding him in place.

At first, he couldn't pinpoint what about that graveyard had caught his eye. It was about what you'd expect, really. Empty space, broken fences and a pack of graves for those that had passed, with fifty six in all. All of the graves had clearly been made with skill and care, furthermore, all of them had been made with the same distinctive carving and style and wood.

All of them had been struck by the same flamer fire as the rest of the settlement, too, he noted with a heavy heart, all of them, except the fifty sixth.

It had to have been the fifty sixth that had caught his eye for a split second, and he was glad it had, because it was all but the clue he'd been hoping for. An anomaly, the fifty sixth grave was nothing more than a piece of wood that had been strung together by some rags and string in the shape of a makeshift cross. Furthermore, there didn't appear to be a grave under it, as the dirt had clearly gone undisturbed, and it was largely unburned.

Someone came here after and put it up, obviously, he thought, heart sinking at the reminder of the atrocity that had happened almost as much as it rose from the discovery, a memorial for the entire settlement.

But this still isn't evidence that The Wanderer herself is here. Although it is odd to see a cross when every other grave here is a carving or tombstone.

I guess there's no choice but to ask "Hey Danse!" he called, turning away from the cross for a moment to look at the house the paladin was in.

"What is it?" his friend called back, leaving the house and running over to him.

"I was wondering if The Wanderer was -or is -a christian?"

"A christian?"Danse repeated, sounding oblivious, "I couldn't say, since I've never been to any of the monasteries. Besides" he added dryly, "If they're anything like those children of the atom, I wouldn't want to."

"I doubt they're not like that!" The Vault Dweller exclaimed, cringing at the comparison between the bloodthirsty group and the harmless neighbors who'd practiced in the old world. At least I'd seriously hope not.

"Well you'll have to find that out for yourself, I'm not setting foot in a place like that." the paladin grunted, "more importantly, is there anything about this place that makes you think The Wanderer might be one of them?"

"It's just that the christians often built their graves as crosses like this," The Vault Dweller explained, "to wish peace for their dead in the afterlife."

"What!?" -his friend all but exploded, almost driving The Vault Dweller to leap away in alarm- "what did you say!?"

"I'm sorry!?" he exclaimed, raising his hands in a placating gesture, "did I say something wrong?"

"I- ...no" Danse said eventually, clearly trying to get his emotions in order, "- no you didn't, I just -I just never realized they were graves, that's all."

"I...see." The Vault Dweller responded, eager to not press the issue.

But just what about them being graves would make him lose his composure like that? The Vault Dweller thought worriedly, slowly idling closer, he mentioned seeing them before, so it must be the meaning of the cross itself...

"...As for your initial question," Danse continued, so calmly that the only way you could tell he was bothered was the slight tremor of anger in his voice, "it's not unfounded, since she did tend to build things like this for the people who she failed to protect."

"Raiders too," he added, exasperated, "for whatever reason."

The Vault Dweller, who had been in a quiet shock thanks to his friends explosion, was knocked back to reality by the absurdity of it. "Raiders, really?"

"Really." his friend confirmed shortly, before looking at the cross with an aura of anger, "Now if that's all, I should get back to work. I've seen enough graves to last a lifetime."

"But I thought you didn't know what it meant..." The Vault Dweller muttered, confused.

"It would've been better if I hadn't. Now I do, I never want to see one of these things again."

However, in spite of having declared his intention to leave the graveyard, Danse, oddly enough, failed to do so. Instead he hung around, at points seeming to agonize over wanting to tell him something, but ultimately stopping himself every time.

"Whatever you want to say, you don't have to tell me now." The Vault Dweller reminded him, taking some pity on the man after three whole minutes of the display. After all, I know what it's like to not want to confront something yet.

"...but I do," Danse replied, in an uncharacteristic display of emotion, sounding for all the world like he was being torn apart by grief, "because you're going to meet her right now, and I want you to know that this is the kind of grave she built for my comrades."

The world seemed to freeze at that. Colours fading into silent grey in the wake of the paladins words. Even The Vault Dweller's blood seemed to freeze, heart going cold in visceral realization of exactly the history of the woman he was dealing with.

He'd known about the war, of course, or at least some sort of internal strife, he'd known that it had been bloody and cruel and that people refused to speak of it.

He also knew that, initially, The Wanderer hadn't been on Maxson's side and she'd killed a few paladins in her heyday.

He'd known all that, but hearing the sadness in Danse's voice had made him feel like he could appreciate the tragedy of it again, properly and on more than an intellectual level.

"There were so many." Danse muttered, sounding honestly bewildered, "And I never understood what they were until now. And I- I just don't get it. Who just shoots someone and builds a grave for them?"

The Vault Dweller wanted to respond, wanted to say something, anything, but when the world was frozen like this, silence was all he could manage.

But maybe silence was all he could give to a man he'd dragged on a rescue mission for his worst enemy.

"Who would be that much of a hypocrite?"

Maybe anything else would be an empty consolation, when even now he still planned to talk to such a person before anything else.

Wanderer, you have a lot of explaining to do.

* * *

So this grave could very well have been done by her, since it's the kind she was known for. The kind of graves she built for everyone she killed, from raiders to paladins.

The Vault Dweller what to think of it all, but he'd taken the confirmation to heart nonetheless.

Well, that and one other thing. Caution. Caution for a person who'd killed enough paladins that Danse apparently saw enough crosses to know it on sight, even if he hadn't known what they'd meant.

This person isn't just sunshine and rainbows, I know that, and yet she built a grave for this settlement -for raiders.

Only a saint could build graves for raiders, he thought, shaking his head at all of it, before turning his head back to the badly made cross, but a saint wouldn't kill her own. Altogether it's just unbelievable.

He supposed the only thing he could do in that case was wait to ask her about it then. After all, there was a growing list of contradictory and hard to believe things that he'd heard of the woman that he needed to ask her about already, so one more wasn't too incredible.

It's already hard enough to connect the person I met on inspection to the cold-blooded, traitorous murderer Danse apparently knows.

Now she's apparently hard enough to shoot paladins, but soft enough to honour them afterwards.

In a way it was degrading, to drag paladins down to the levels of raiders and treat them as equally worthy of honour in death, even though one would supposedly defend towns and one would attack them.

She must have thought there was something equally worthy of honour in all of them, maybe because she was a christian, or maybe because she'd decided to live her way like that,

The Vault Dweller didn't know if he could empathize with such an act. Not after having read the terminals documenting the raiders exploits in all of his missions near them. The terminals had been like an exploration into the raiders minds, and while it had certainly been… humanizing, in a sense, it hadn't exactly painted the most sympathetic picture.

Maybe if I get a chance to talk to her, she can tell me what drove her to do that...

And what drove her to kill her fellows, as well.

He was still musing on that when the paladin came up behind him, his movements surprisingly quiet upon the grass, and knocked him from the reverie with a heavy armoured hand on his shoulder.

"Sssssh," he whispered, "Sorry if I surprised you."

"I had no idea you could be that quiet!" The Vault Dweller whispered back.

"Trained for everything," he shrugged, "good thing too, otherwise I'd have woken her up."

"Woken who -you found her."

"The very one." his friend said grimly, "I'll take you to her, but remember to go quiet.

* * *

True to the paladin's word, when he found her, The Wanderer was curled up on a bedroll and dead to the world, the shack around her a chaotic mess of burnt wood and empty cans.

She was sleeping upon a rare patch of unburned quality wood, and beside her stood the criminal suit of stolen power armour. A quick investigation of which revealed that she had stashing all of her weapons in it's frame. A wise move considering she'd been carrying no less than three guns, five grenades and two melee weapons with her for some godforsaken reason.

Granted, he had no real right to judge, he did almost the same thing, but most of his companions never failed to explain how carrying as much stuff as he did was impractical at best and life threatening at worst.

Then again, if a warmachine like her is doing it, though, then maybe there really is something to being over armed, although... "If she can carry this much she must have a mean right hook," He noted quietly, edging away from the sleeping woman.

"Left hook actually," the paladin specified, "though she was pretty ambidextrous in the past. I hear the lack of combat's caused her to neglect her right side though. Probably best to attack from there." he advised, before hastily adding, "If it comes down to it, I mean."

Had it been a day earlier, The Vault Dweller would've sighed in exasperation at the paladins hostile attitude, probably thrown a critical look at him as well. Today though, after having learnt what he'd learnt, he held back, not only because it would wake the woman, but also because, at this point, he didn't know if it was really unjustified. For although it may have hurt to admit it, he knew now that The Wanderer was dangerous and that there was truth to Danse's words.

Besides, he thought, he has more than enough reason to be hostile and cautious of her, I don't even know if I have a right to judge him for it anymore, so long as he tries to be a bit less gung ho about it.

These things had to sort themselves out eventually. As for the desertion and theft, that was a more immediate problem.

"If it's a fight you're worried about" he said instead, "our best bet is to get rid of these."

Danse offered no complaints, and, taking that as approval, The Vault Dweller busied himself with shovelling as many guns as he could into the paladins arms.

It's lucky that he's wearing power armour, he found himself thinking as the paladin stubbornly failed to buckle under the weight of the armaments, makes the prospect of carrying the aforementioned combat knife, grenades, actual real life sword, shotgun, sniper, assault and hunting rifles all at once somewhat realistic.

...It'll also make him a good pack mule in the event that things do go south, he thought darkly,

Though let's hope it doesn't come to that.

With the immediate danger out of the way, The Vault Dweller retreated to the back of the room alongside his superior and gave the sleeping ex-scout a once over.

She appeared to be largely unarmoured, using only a faded green long coat for warmth, and seemed defenseless almost to the point of almost making The Vault Dweller guilty for being cautious of her. Worried about starting a fight because of a misstep, he looked to his friend for guidance. Unfortunately, the paladin merely looked back at him and shrugged.

"Your call."

Though The Vault Dweller didn't approve of the edge of spite in the paladin's voice, he did suppose it was what they had agreed upon, so since he couldn't see any real point in starting any needless bickering, he instead took a look at their current options.

He could shake her awake, of course, but that would likely be seen as an attack as well as putting him in left hook range.

Alternatively, he could bypass the whole punching problem by just outright shooting her. If it was somewhere non lethal yet important, then he could probably play it off as caution, but he couldn't accept such a breach of trust. He needed to show her he wasn't an enemy.

Then there was the third option: waiting. Probably the safest, but also the longest, and there was always the chance that, when she did wake up, she'd still see them as an enemy.

Finally he could comfortably yell at her to wake up from the other end of the room, but it would be easy for her to see that as an attack. Of course, if she did see it as an attack they were in a far more secure position.

Making his choice, The Vault Dweller steeled his nerves and called out.

"Miss wanderer, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to wake up."

* * *

Welp. heres chapter ... something after a while. not really happy with parts of it but yay anyway I guess. I got back into it recently, but I'm still drawing a lot. Holidays now though. Yaaaay.

tfw you do a rewrite and 2000 words grows into 5000.


	10. Ambidexterity

Disclaimer: I do not own fallout.

* * *

 _She has a sidearm, of course. Why wouldn't she have a sidearm? After all, having a weapon beside you when you sleep is only natural._

 _Oh, but it couldn't just be a normal sidearm_ , The Vault Dweller groaned, doing his best to ignore the pain in his arm, _it just had to be a fully upgraded revolver capable of lacerating me._

 _Good to know it can punch through power at our too_ , he thought dryly, as another shot punched straight through Danse's shoulder guard. Thankfully, it didn't do too much damage, with the armor taking most of the force, but there was no way he wanted to take a shot like that head on.

And if he wanted to prevent that, he had to remain calm. Even if it hurt, right now the most important thing he could do was to make sure she had no reason to shoot him. So instead he put his arms in the air and waited.

It didn't take long for her to speak. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded, seeming about ready to kill the both of them.

 _She could manage it too, with a gun like that._

Danse, of course, answered with all the tact of a brick thrown through a storefront window.

"We are soldiers of The Brotherhood of Steel- here to reclaim stolen property. Now put the weapon down. Immediately ."

Along with his statement, his arms had fallen towards his rifle, attracting The Wanderer's attention. While The Vault Dweller was glad that his friend had taken the heat off of him. He felt that he could've stood to be a little less insulting.

 _Besides,_ "I thought we agreed I was going to go first." he grumbled, arms sore and head ringing. Danse at least had the decency to shoot what he assumed was an apologetic look his way, but the damage was already done.

"Oh so that's how it is" The Wanderer hissed, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "finally come to kill me huh... took you long enough"

"I'd _really_ rather we didn't" The Vault Dweller butted in, hoping to keep the situation from spiraling into violence.

Hearing his words, The Wanderer refocused on him, eyes widening as though seeing him for the first time. As her eyes dropped into shock and betrayal, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt at having come after her. Then he reminded himself that, if everything went right, there'd be no need to feel guilty, and crushed it.

"So what then?" she asked, hopelessness replaced by hollow anger, "you just gonna take the armour and leave me to go on my merry way?"

"You're a deserter as well as a thief." Danse explained bluntly, refocusing her aim on him again,"you'll need to go through due process for that."

"Well thats obvious..." she spat, before looking at him, equal parts upset and angry, "and you? Why are you here?"

"I wanted to find out what happened to this settlement, and to find you, too" he explained, hoping to defuse the situation.

"Aren't they talking about it back on the Prydwen?" She grunted, still suspicious.

"Apparently there's a gag order," he sighed, attempting to use the exasperation as an excuse to drop his arms. Beside him, he heard the sound of Danse's hand reaching his rifle. Unfortunately, the sound of metal on metal got The Wanderers attention, and soon her hackles were raised again.

"You say you want to talk, but it seems like you're more interested in shooting."

"Sorry if we came off like that," he said quickly, "but I only want to talk. Really."

"Then have him drop it," she said, as though it was the easiest thing in the world, "if you ain't planning on using it then you shouldn't need it, right?"

"I'll drop it when I can be sure that you won't take the opportunity to shoot us while unarmed." Danse sniped, before he had a chance to say anything, "you've got a reputation for both."

She paled at his statement, mouth opening and closing for a moment as though she wanted to say something but couldn't. "They-" she started, stuttering, "They shot me!"

"If they just shot back, then it wouldn't be so hard to say." Danse fired back, clearly grinding an axe that wasn't completely necessary, "but they didn't shoot back, did they?"

"I'm talking about before! They-"

"Shut up and face it." he interrupted, "You're a goddamn war criminal who shoots innocents -a traitor who doesn't deserve anyone's trust and I'm not putting my weapon down until you do."

In the face of Danse's tirade, The Wanderer could only stare, silent. The Vault Dweller might've taken it as an unexpected -if tactless -victory had the look in her eyes not been so...unsettling.

Where they had been confused before, now they were completely clear, bright and focused on the two of them, and they weren't the eyes of someone who was about to give in.

They were eyes he'd seen before, on the most distinguished of Chinese generals, on the lowliest of American soldiers. The eyes of a person who wasn't about to surrender.

 _What did you just do, Danse?!_

"If war criminals don't deserve trust, then the lot of you should be dead" she hissed, "after what you did here, and what you did in rivet city, the underworld, the tower , even goddamn megaton, you're already the most traitorous goddamn war criminals this side of the enclave."

Then, before either of them could react, her arm moved, the air was broken by thunder. and the next thing he knew, Danse had been shot twice in his unarmoured arm.

The Vault Dweller watched his friend hit the ground with panic rising in his veins. It was a dizzying moment, and for a few seconds his mind was nothing but a panicked haze, but then-

 _So you're aiming to be in the rangers soon, huh? It'd suit ya, you're a good soldier._

 _What does that even mean these days?_

 _Lotta things, but usually, not to panic._

-then he killed it, just as he always had, and quickly considered what to do next instead.

The first thing he noticed was that, in spite of her anger, The Wanderer had adjusted her aim just then. She'd gone from shooting at Danse's head to his arm, and therefore he could presume that her aim was to neutralize, not kill.

 _In that case_ , he thought, throwing himself in front of his friends body and throwing his syringer rifle down behind him in the chaos, _then this might just work_.

"Easy now, no need to shoot!"

"There won't be once I'm done with you!"

"NO- I just want to find out what happened- what The Brotherhood _are_ -"

"Oh you wanna know what they _are_?!" she said, words dripping with spite.

"Oh yes" he said, nodding, "incredibly so."

"I see," she seethed, " well I'll tell you _exactly_ what they are, they're a bunch of murdering bastards who'll walk into a town, any town, they suspect of having a ghoul in-"

 _Wait -ghoul? Wasn't it a synth?_

"-And when the settlers commit the _terrible_ crime of standing with their friend, The Brotherhood will fucking shoot em all and shove the rest in camps!" she yelled, eyes venomous. "That was seven years ago, and they're still doing the same goddamn thing today, so tell me a good reason why I should trust a war criminal like _you_."

The Vault Dweller almost couldn't think of such a reason. After all, if it was really true that The Brotherhood was the kind who did that with impunity, then he wouldn't have trusted them either. Rather, he'd been hoping that the perpetrators had been extremists, spies or anything other than ordinary knights. -Hoped that their views weren't representative of the entire brotherhoods.

Of course, a part of him had suspected they were, even in his most hopeful times, because of Maxsons speech. Far from contradicting her assessment, the speech Maxson had made had been full of the kind of anti synth sentiments that would drive the settlements massacre.

But it was still only almost, because if there was one other thing that The Vault Dweller could say about The Brotherhood, it was that it had men like Danse, who cared about the wasteland and had been just as disappointed with the perpetrators as him.

If there were enough people like that, then the soldiers would definitely be punished. The Brotherhood, for good or ill, would give the settlers some justice.

To him, that was a good enough reason to trust them, at least for now, a reason good enough to fight for.

 _But if I tell The Wanderer that, it'll be the same as telling Danse she's a good person. She'll reject it out of hand, after all, she wouldn't have lashed out if it was any different._

So instead he slugged a baseball at her head as hard as he could, advancing as quickly as he could while she was distracted until he was almost in grappling range.

But after making a show of somehow _shooting the baseball out of the air_ , The Wanderer wasted no time in training her aim on him.

He watched her eyes shift, leaping from his head to his legs to his arm to his chest and hoped beyond hope that the mercy she'd shown to Danse was still applying.

She fired, it slammed straight through his legs, downing him before he could get halfway. While he would have been happy that she truly didn't intend to kill, it was it didn't change how unpleasant it was when he hit the ground, or how bad the situation at large was.

Desperate to turn it around, he searched the ground blindly for anything that could be used against her, eventually feeling his good hand close around something metallic and can shaped. Without even looking at it, he chucked the can straight at her praying it'd at least buy him a second.

She tracked the movement instantaneously, shooting it out of the air just like the baseball. It was less than a moment's distraction, far from what he'd need to defeat her, but it was all the time he needed to make that final leap out and grab out her legs from under her.

They grappled as they fell, but try as he might, he was unable to have her give up her gun. After a short and painful struggle, she kicked him off viciously and scanned the room to see if anything had changed with Danse while they'd been struggling.

Her mind moved too quickly for The Vault Dweller to be comfortable, but it was already too late. His grappling had done it's job, and Danse had already raised The Vault Dwellers syringer rifle in his left hand.

There was a moment of stillness before he fired. A single second where The Wanderer and the paladin stared at each other, glares worth a thousand words. Then he shot.

The Vault Dweller heard her clatter against the shack floor, gun skidding away, and breathed.

* * *

It took three more minutes for The Vault Dweller to regain some sense of his arms, but less for him to calm down his faculties. In war, it was important to be able to get past battle quick, and that hadn't changed since coming to the wasteland.

"Is she dead?".

"No. Unfortunately, I used a paralyzing syringe," Danse replied, slapping him when his sigh of relief "And no, you can't fall asleep on me now, we need to apply medicine."

"Oh just slam a stimpack on and be done with it."

"I get the feeling that that won't staunch the bleeding. Or prevent infection."

"Whatever," The Vault Dweller grumbled, trailing off. The pain was starting to die down by then, likely because Danse had applied med x, "how long do you think she'll be out?"

"Ten minutes at the most, her body flushes out toxins pretty quick"

"Ten minutes!" he sputtered, roughly trying to push himself off the floor in his med x fueled stupor, "we need to tie her up!"

"I was getting to that," Danse explained, sounding insanely calm, "we have no ropes, but we probably have enough belts to restrain her, do you know how to do a hogtie with a belt?"

The Vault Dweller almost choked. "We're not hogtying her!"

"Hmph, well we probably don't have the materials for it anyway."

"Can't we just use a chair or something?"

"You mean belt her arms and legs down?"

"Yeah,"

He mulled it over for a few, precious seconds, "Seems like it could work."

"Then let's get started."

* * *

It took three more minutes to tie up The Wanderer, and another four for her to wake up. In that time, The Vault Dweller had put on the extra suit of power armour to make sure that he would be prepared for any attack. Luckily, with The Wanderer tied secure on her chair, it didn't seem likely. As if to prove it, after waking up, she took one look at the belts and deflated.

"If you're gonna torture me sadistically, could you at least give me some rads first." She sighed.

"Why would you _want_ us to irradiate you?" The Vault Dweller asked, incredulous.

"On second thoughts," she added, "you'll probably starve me, so nevermind."

"Either way we have the armour," Danse stated, "so the most important things been taken care of."

"Oh I _see._ So now that the most important things taken care of, I guess that means you're gonna head on home and leave me to die, right?" despite it being phrased like a question, it was obvious from her tone that she hadn't the smallest doubts what was going to happen to her.

"Maybe we should take her with us." he posited, scratching the back of his neck.

"That would be ideal," Danse replied, "though to be honest I don't know her chances now she's assaulted us."

 _That would stain the proceedings_ , The Vault Dweller admitted inwardly, "but it shouldn't be enough for her to face execution."

"You're discounting the theft," Danse countered, "power armour's expensive, rare, and hard to maintain, so stealing it is a serious offense. Her assault of us on top of that-"

"They've exiled for less," The Wanderer finished Danse's thought for him, before looking towards The Vault Dweller with a curious expression, "and usually the exiles are followed up by less official executions anyway."

 _Wait what?_

"Leaving her here would be a punishable offense," Danse warned hastily, drawing his attention away, "so we don't have a choice anyway."

"But we can't just deliver her to an execution!"

"Things might not go that way." he reasoned, "The Brotherhood isn't that merciless."

The Wanderer barked a harsh laugh.

"Either way," he continued, ignoring her, "it's our heads or hers. Make a decision."

"...Don't I always." The Vault Dweller sighed, shaking his head. _But if it really is our head or hers, then I have to bring her in, there's too many people counting on me right now._

 _On the other hand, if I take her there and she's executed, then I may as well be a murderer myself._

He almost let out a chuckle. _What a pain, even though nobody would know, I still can't do it in good conscience._

 _I suppose that all I can do is hope that Danse is right, and it won't go too badly._

As though she could tell how much he was agonizing, The Wanderer gave a sigh of her own, apparently deciding to put him out of his misery.

"Ah hell, I was planning to go back anyway."

"...Wait really?!"

"Really," she repeated, yawning, "If I'm heading back, I may as well have a stop at one for one of your 'trials.'"

She made sure to try and put finger quotes around the word, though her bindings meant she couldn't do much, "-do I at least get to be untied before I die?"

"...well I suppose we'll have to" The Vault Dweller replied, blinking, still unsure as to how he was supposed to take this.

 _I can't believe she'd just agree to it. This could be her execution she's marching to!_

He just couldn't fathom it. What would draw a person back to a place they'd die. Was there something that tied her to The Brotherhood even now?

 _Maybe I'll get to find out one day,_ he mused _,_ shaking his head, _or maybe not._

Either way, it made things slightly easier for him to bear. Danse also seemed to be fine with it, though he was less fine with her being untied.

"We can take away her weapons," The Vault Dweller offered, hoping to cut the argument off before it began.

He was unsuccessful. "You don't need a gun to be dangerous,"

"We're wearing _power armour_." _What does he think her fists are made of? Acid?_

"She could steal the fusion cores." Danse shrugged, shaking his head "really shouldn't take chances with this one, trust me"

"I really couldn't" the person in question chimed in, almost smiling, "I'm a really shit thief."

"Well we could just untie only her feet."

He shook his head, "that just means she can run away."

"Well how do you think we should transport her?!" The Vault Dweller exclaimed, almost throwing his hands into the air.

"We could search for more supplies and hogti-"

" _We're not hogtying her_!"

* * *

Eventually, he managed to convince Danse to untie The Wanderer's legs. The trade off being that she had to walk under leash and always five meters in front.

The Wanderer had agreed to it easily, though he suspected she hadn't quite understood the bargain, or the fact that walking along with a leash at above average speeds would be a problem for anyone.

"Listen, I'm flattered that you think I'm so strong," she muttered, dragging herself up from the latest trip, " but you're really overstating my abilities."

The Vault Dweller sighed, barely resisting the urge to facepalm. It was her fifth such complaint since setting out, and it was starting to grate on his nerves.

"You already agreed to this so stop complaining," he said uncompromisingly.

"I knoooow."

"Would you rather we hogtied you after all?"

"...no."

Every now and then, such an exchange would happen, but after a while, he started to prefer them, because at other times The Wanderer was _even worse_.

See, it turned out that Danse and The Wanderer shared at least one unsavoury characteristic. They were far too argumentative, and every three minutes they were bickering with each other about something or other-

"Why am I disgraced for trying to spare a few lives!" she screeched, getting the wheels rolling once again.

"Sparing the lives of traitors damages the war effort," Danse replied.

"Traitors?" she repeated, sounding scandalized even though they'd shared this conversation at least once already, "Traitors for what?! Diplomacy?"

"No, for fraternizing with the enemy."

"So you admit the people of rivet city were the enemies to you then?!"

"They stood in the way of stability for the whole wasteland." he countered calmly, "Prioritising their own survival over everyone else's defines them as an enemy."

"Which is why the core's up in your ship and not in d.c where the people are, right?"

"If the Commonwealth needs to be protected, then why should The Brotherhood just sit by?"

"No one said anything about standing by! But why come here while stealing something that belongs to the wastelanders! It should be in d.c, at least!"

"It's not like they haven't benefited-" Danse exclaimed "having the Prydwen already did more good for the D.C wasteland than you ever did -No raiders, no super mutants-" he said grimly, "the fact is that the Prydwen is the only reason people outside the cities can feel safe at night."

"Even if it was at the cost of their freedom?"

"For the sake of their security, yes."

-To be honest, he'd appreciated it at the start. The conversations, as screechy as they'd gotten, had been enlightening as to the state of The Brotherhood and his two companions. But they just went on and on, and it was starting to give him a headache.

But he couldn't just say that they were annoying bastards who never shut up, so instead he said "I feel like it would be best if we were to go the night in university point again."

The two stared at him, bewildered.

 _I can't believe I'm going to have to explain this._ "First off, all the power armour in the world is going to keep my _multiple bullet wounds_ from feeling like shit," he said brightly, with a meaningful look at The Wanderer, "Second, I'm starving and I really, _really_ need some sleep."

By the time he'd finished The Wanderer looking anywhere but him. Danse on the other hand was completely silent. Though the sweet sound of nothing may have been palatable to The Vault Dwellers ears, his next statement wasn't.

"That" Danse declared warmly, "was at least two sentences. Congratulations, knight, you're finally recovering."

* * *

In spite of their distrust, he and Danse had allowed The Wanderer to be temporarily untied in order to help prepare the campsite. It was a risky move, but a worthwhile one, as with a third pair of uninjured hands on their side, they made good time with the setup. The tents and a campfire were already up and running by nightfall, and because of their power armour and keen eyes, The Wanderer had yet to try anything.

 _Still, most captured soldiers would plan to escape even under watch. I guess she really is serious about going back...even if it's towards and execution._

"You're acting pretty calm right now considering what might happen."

"Where's the point in being a dick?" she explained simply, " sides, you'll kill me if I piss you off."

"That didn't stop you from being pretty pissed back there."

"Almost like people can have different sides to them."

"So then what exactly brought out the murderous side?"

"I already told you what." she sighed, "The Brotherhood were assholes."

"Then why do you want to go back?"

She went silent at that, only staring at him over the spitting flames with dark eyes for what felt like an age, before eventually looking down at the fires. "I was asked by a friend to look out for em. That's all. So even if I hate em, I still gotta fight for em."

She didn't seem to want to say anything more on the topic, and it seemed delicate, so he decided to leave it alone. There were some things prisoners won't do even under duress, after all.

"Do you really know what happened at the settlement?" he asked instead.

"Only what you'd get from hearsay," she shrugged, "though probably more than you'd get in the Prydwen."

 _Well I was only on the Prydwen and she'd know that, so…_ "I'd like to hear it then."

The Wanderer didn't hesitate a single second. Leaning forward with a nod, she took a deep breath and started, "Let's start with the names then. So there was this guy, Oliver -nice wife, two adopted kids, helped around town -y'know, typical helpful person. Anyway, he joined the settlement around about five years ago."

"I'm guessing this is our synth."

"That's right. Anyway, the synth'd had it's memories wiped by the railroad-"

The Vault Dweller all but exploded, "The railroad exists!?"

She seemed blown away by his outburst, taking a few seconds to respond, "...I mean … yeah? Didn't Maxson give a big speech about it or something?"

"I assumed he was jumping at shad-."

" _What_?" she exclaimed, clutching at her chest "Maxson the perfect!? Overreact!? Jump at shadows!? _Never_!"

"I don't appreciate your sarcasm, Scout." Danse interjected, making the both of them jump, "The only reason I'm letting you speak is because you have something to say, so say it."

Unfortunately, his interjection seemed to have made her less interested in speaking -rather, she seemed horrified at what she'd said in front of him.

 _But if Danse didn't know for sure if the railroad existed, then why would she?_

Watching the woman clamp up, he could tell that that was a mystery for another day though. It seemed like it'd be tough enough for her to continue with just the story of the settlement, if her slow and cautious pace was any indication.

"So he had his memories wiped," she started, slowly and carefully, "but there was an increase in institute presence in the area even though they'd already destroyed university point.

"And that attracted The Brotherhood?"

"...Yeah, but when they got there, there were no big coursers or kidnappings. Just Oliver, so they tried to take him instead."

"Without explaining anything?" He asked, shocked. It seemed pretty tactless, since such a thing could easily be taken as kidnapping.

"Most knights think that 'we're The Brotherhood' is a good enough explanation for anything," she answered, sending Danse a spiteful look, "Naturally, the settlers didn't approve of that, and tried to stop them. The Brotherhood got spooked and started shooting. Next there was some fighting, then some fleeing, then a ghost town." Her head was shaking as she finished "It was despicable."

"Hmm, but this info's pretty good for someone who wasn't personally there."

"Well, there were a few people who managed to get away." she admitted, "Mostly the children. Guess that's one decent thing about The Brotherhood. At least they don't shoot kids."

"Thankfully it wasn't a complete massacre then."

"Yeah..." The Wanderer muttered, scratching the back of her neck and looking at his wounded leg, "I guess that maybe I _was_ being a bit harsh on them… they don't always show mercy, y'know."

"When they're ghouls." He finished her thought for her.

"When their ghouls," she confirmed.

They didn't talk much after that. Even Danse had quieted down, but the story stuck with him all night until he finally got to sleep. The story, and those final few words.

 _I can't let Hancock or Nick be hurt… for Danse's sake, I hope that there's time for The Brotherhood to change_.

* * *

When he woke the next day, it wasn't by choice. After all, there was no way he'd ever choose to be woken up hours before dawn by being punched in the face.

After all, usually being punched in the face meant you were under attack, and that the enemy was behind the lines to boot. In a sense, he was glad to see that it was The Wanderer, once his eyes had finally cleared.

He was going to chastise her for it. Explain that that was dangerous, that he could've attacked her, or mistaken her for a raider.

At least until a raiders bullet slammed into her leg.

"I think-!" she screeched, holding back a cry and clutching her leg, "-we're past that!"

"...Shit."

* * *

I'm fairly sure this has mistakes, but I have no beta and this is already late enough thanks to me catching the flu, so here's hoping 5 look overs is enough. _


	11. Friend or Foe

disclaimer: I don't own fallout.

* * *

Bullets flying before the sun was up had become the Scouts least favourite occurrence over the years. While it definitely got her up on time and gave her ple~nty of time in the day, it was just awful to have to shoot people while half asleep.

 _Honestly, it's mind boggling to realise I once thought of this stuff as profitable! What kind of a person does that..._

Still, it wasn't like anything was going to change from complaining about it. Now was the time for fight or flight -and if not that, to at least wake up the other two before they got shot full of holes. Letting them die here would be wrong, and if she was going to march onto her uncertain doom, she wanted to march with her principals at least.

Silently, she snuck towards Vaulties bed, taking note the situation. The first thing she figured was that they weren't _just_ before dawn, they were _wa~y_ before dawn and light was a distant dream. Luckily for her, night vision was one of the few things she hadn't let go of during her 'extended leave' and she could easily spot the outlines of six raider's on the prowl. Surprisingly, they weren't into the whole ransacking thing they'd normally pull in a place like this. Rather, they seemed to be trying to set up shop. Not a good sign, since it meant there was at least a chance that their boss was with them.

 _Raider bosses are tough as nails, they've gotta be. I don't know if I can take one on after all this time..._

Luckily, as thick as Danse was, he'd been smart enough to put their camp somewhere it wouldn't be easily found. Unfortunately, because there was a searchlight, that miracle would only work for a matter of time.

 _In that case, then I should quit wasting it on thinking and try to get this guy up_. She thought, staring down at him. _Though I can't figure out how to do it nicely with my hands bound like this_.

She guessed that she could… fall on him? Or try to wake him up with her voice? Problem was she'd give away their position if she made noise...but even if she held off on words, if she slapped him around he'd definitely shout when he wakes up as well.

If she had her hands untied, she could probably manage to keep his mouth closed, but if she did that, he might bite her or something, he'd definitely see her as an enemy.

 _But being an enemy is better than being dead, she thought, uncomfortably reaching out with her wrists, so I suppose I have no choice..._

... _But to punch him in the chest_. Not too hard, but harder than she probably should have. Enough so that he seemed just a little pissed off when he finally opened his eyes.

She tried to shush him before he could speak, hoping to keep them from being discovered, but then the world around her was drenched in light and she felt her heart sink around the same time as a bullet flew into her legs.

She almost fell over in shock. It had been a long time since she had felt this kind of pain, and the feeling was like a cold wash of water over her. Letting herself fall into the lull of battle, S\she did her best to calm down, and miraculously managed to regain enough sense of mind to at least press her back against the wall before the next bullet landed in her skull.

"Wake up already," she hissed, holding her leg as she glared down at Vaultie, "there's raiders everywhere!"

Of course, rather than give any sort of admission, Vaultie just looked at her like she was some kind of idiot. Pretty rude after she'd saved his life and all, really.

"Aren't you gonna help out?" she demanded, hearing the shots multiply behind her. In response, he simply glared at her, raising his bandaged hands instead.

"Point taken," She sighed, "well, if you ain't gonna fight you can at least untie me so _I_ can-"

"FOUND YOU!"

 _-or we could get caught and die. That's fair too_.

 _At... least they haven't called me a pathetic bitch yet?_ she thought, flattening herself against the wall and searching for some silver lining _, that's always a good thing. Who knows! Maybe these guys are more civilized than most raiders? I can dream can't I?_

At this point dreaming was about the only option left. Running was a lost cause now the raiders'd located them, and their only other option would be a very one sided battle if they remained unarmed.

Luckily, the paladin seemed to be doing better on his end. He'd managed to grab his laser rifle, and was firing away at any raiders that got anywhere near him.

 _But one laser rifle against six assault rifles aren't good odds, and he's too far away for me to get there_. Which was a problem, since if the raiders took him down, then it was all but game over for all three of them.

She looked down at Vaultie, who'd managed to press himself against the wall alongside her. If he just managed to untie her, they could flee or fight, but it had to be quick. She'd be worried, but that man was sharp, and surely he'd figure a way out of this-

-That was before she'd heard the crash and roar of a power armour suit activating, and all thoughts of fight or flight fled her mind, replaced by anxiety and a sinking heart.

"Someone tell me that's not what I think it is."

"A raider got into one of our power armours." Vaultie sighed, collapsing against the wall beside her.

"Not what I wanted to hear."

"Well it's the truth."

"I know it's the truth," she screeched, "I just- I just can't _believe_ you though. You really decided to leave the two suits of power armour unattended. _Really_."

"Most raider bands don't have two miniature nuclear reactors on hand." he said, sending her a withering glare.

"Good idea! I'm sure it'll really help us out here."

"Complaining won't help either."

"Well then mr genius, you gonna get moving on getting us out of your mess?"

"With these hands?" he chuckled, shaking his head, "Sorry but it's up to you."

"That's impossible." she shrieked, eyes wide, "What the hell am I supposed to do! We already established I couldn't beat power armour!"

"What other option do we have!?"

"Running!" she exclaimed, tensing as she heard the raiders voices growing closer. The bullets had stopped flying, and she knew that it was just a matter of time if they didn't get away.

Vaultie didn't agree, "And what makes you think we'll make it if we try to run?"

"They're not after us, just this place." she replied almost gesturing at the buildings around them before she remembered the guns trained on her position and retracted her hands, "they won't leave it for some scraps like us."

Vaultie scoffed, "with this many people they can gun us down AND set up shop you know."

"Well it's better than a suicide run into two power armour soldiers," She snapped back, "It's not like there's anything else we can do, so why don't we just go for it? If all the chances are 0, going with the one percent is better than giving up!"

At that, he sent her a pitiable look, before sighing, defeated and pointing behind her. "Sorry, but I'm afraid your 1 percent has been a zero for a while now, miss."

She looked into his eyes for a single long second trying to piece together what he meant. Then she heard the voices just meters behind her, and felt her blood freeze. Slowly, she turned around, raising her arm in a pacifistic gesture towards the six raiders that had converged on their cover.

"H-hey there."

It was rather pathetic attempt, and she didn't know what to expect after she said it. A bullet in the face was likely. So was violation, mutilation, slavery, torture, all those nice things.

She couldn't help but feel disappointed _, after all, it was a stupid way to go out. After years and years of fighting and coming out clean. I'm going to die after getting jumped in my sleep._

She flashed back to the paladins words from just earlier. "The brotherhood did more for the wasteland than you ever did." he'd said, "They dealt with the raiders, the super mutants, the ghouls. Now the people of D.C can sleep safely at night."

She'd rejected it, because it was safety that had resulted from cruelty and injustice, and yet it was definitely true. This would never have happened in D.C. under the brotherhood's watchful eyes, but even so-

-Even so, she couldn't abandon what she'd stood for. Justice for everyone, the ghouls, the humans-

The brotherhood, the outcasts, the elderly, the runaways, the children… even elder Maxson.

 _I wonder if I'll ever make up for that? If all this was worth it? If it was ever even possible to try and hold everything together in one stupid human being? Now I'm gonna die, never knowing if I did enough, wondering if this was even what Sarah wanted…_

At this rate, even if she went to heaven it'd still be a hell for her.

 _...But,_ she thought, standing taller, _if I am going to hell like this, I'm going proud._

Sending that sort of image was the only thing she had left. After all this time, her beliefs were the only thing that hadn't been destroyed by this decade of stillness. Her will to show people that they could be better, that they could be brave even in the face of death, that they could work together and be heroes no matter how much the wasteland tried to break them, was the only thing she could still give to the people.

She wanted to stand against this world that made monsters of people. Stole their hopes and pit them against each other using every weakness in their hearts. She'd wanted to be better than that, wanted to show that _people_ could be better than that, wanted to spite that entire status quo.

 _In the end I failed at that didn't I. I couldn't stop the brotherhood, and i killed so many people just to live. I didn't have the right to say that people could live without hurting others._

"But I still have this." she muttered, taking a step "I can still die proud."

"What are you doing!?" Vaultie whispered harshly, pressing further against the wall.

"You should run" she said simply, "I'll buy time." death was worthless without a legacy after all.

"Five seconds worth!"

"That's enough isn't it?" she said, taking another step forwards and drawing off the raiders attention.

 _I wonder why aren't they shooting, though? Maybe they are more civilised than back in D.C!_

 _Or_ , she thought, heart sinking as she watched them all look to a rough looking woman, _maybe they were just waiting for their boss to make the decision._

She didn't know if that was good or bad. If they were deferring, it meant they probably had ...use for her, and she'd seen more than enough gore and blood lining their lairs in D.C. to know what raiders used prisoners for. She prayed that she'd choose to shoot her, or even put her to work as a slave before mutilating her like that.

 _Everything will be fine so long as Vaultie gets away though. She thought, All I need to do is allow that to happen. Maybe if I punch her it'll distract them long enough..._

In the end, she didn't have to punch her or do anything at all, because the instead the boss greeted her with open arms. Striding forth with a laugh and slapping her on the back.

"Been awhile since I last saw you, wanderer!"

The Scout blinked, mystified by her actions. Just a few seconds ago she'd been expecting a double tap, and now she had a raider on her arm she didn't even know what to think.

The boss ignored her silence, laughing and batting one of her mens rifles away. "So you finally shook em brotherhood bastards off, eh? Good on you! Pity they followed you, but I guess that's why you always said you get out while they were spread thin."

"I...what?" she continued, still shocked, before feeling Vaultie jab at her back.

She turned to him, along with everyone else.

He didn't seem to appreciate the stares, "I just noticed…" he said slowly, coughing, "that miss's shoulder armour is brotherhood."

 _What?_ The Scout thought, turning to look back at the boss and seeing that she did indeed have the crest, _but why would a former brotherhood be glad to see me? I betrayed them!_

She felt another jab at her back, as he continued, "If you've got that armour you must have been outcast…"

 _What's he trying to get at?_

"Yeah," the boss laughed, "I was one of this one's squadmates, at least for a time. She helped me get out of the country in 83."

"Really?" he replied, voice cracking, "I had no idea!" he choked out, looking at her with disbelief, "Introduce us!"

"What?" she blinked, still struggling to process it all.

" _Introduce us_!"

"Oh! Well I'm a sc-"

"We already know you!"

"Oh right! Well this is… this is Paul and you are- you are-...you are..."

Slowly, the statement trailed off into an awkward silence. As the seconds ticked by, it dawned on her that she had no idea of the raiders name, even after hearing her voice.

Hesitant, she paused, trying to think of something, but before she got the chance, understanding dawned in the raiders eyes.

"You don't remember me do ya," she asked, voice toneless.

The Scout could only stare at the ground and hope that her propensity to forget things wasn't going to get them all killed.

 _I mean I can't be blamed right? There's a million people in the wasteland._

Vaultie clearly blamed her, "you don't remember your own squadmates…?" he asked, incredulous.

"Well," the boss continued, shrugging, "they did say she wasn't the type to remember the people she helped, guess that goes for me as well. Either way, I owe you."

She almost sank in relief, she hadn't been aware she'd had such a reputation, but she was glad that it made sure the boss wasn't too angry at her.

"...And what about him?" Vaultie called weakly, pointing at something in the back.

The Scout turned to look at it herself, and felt her heart stop when she recognised Danse. Beaten bloody and tied up.

The boss looked down at him like he was scum, but Danse was unwavering.

"Typical," he spat "I should've expected you outcasts to turn to raiding."

His response earned him a kick in the face. The Scout almost flinched at it, but Vaultie clamped down on her shoulders and kept her straight.

"So this bastard," she inquired, punctuating each word with a kick, "is the guy who was supposed to bring you two into that big ship of theirs, then?"

 _She said two_ , The Scout realized, mind wheeling on how best to use this information, _she thinks Vaultie is a prisoner like me._

Beside her, Vaultie nodded, already way ahead of her, "He wanted to take me in,"

"They wanted to put him to work." she added quickly.

Vaultie nodded again, grimacing,"this woman argued with him and next thing we know…"

She finished the thought for him "Apparently that stands for desertion these days." she said bitterly, channeling every real bit of spite into it to hide her anxiety.

Although she'd been worried about the lies, it seemed like the raider was entirely ready to take it all at face value, and shook her head solemnly, "I'd believe it," she said, "and I'm not enough of an idiot to get into a fight with you besides."

"Then you'll let us go?" The Scout asked, head starting to feel light.

"I said I owed you a debt didn't I. Now get."

They didn't keep her waiting.

* * *

There were originally another thousand words in this. Why do I do this to myself. Ah well, at least I can move onto less painful projects. (I really like this story though. its just. that editing. I could only bear to look it over three times. Its probably bad.)

Thanks for the support, those of you following and faving!


	12. Grey on Grey Insanity

Disclaimer, I don't own fallout.

* * *

There had been a mutiny before the day had ended. A couple of raiders had complained about lost marks, but the boss was set on the idea that they shouldn't have fought. It had come to blows eventually, as was the way of raiders.

In the end, boss had come out on top. Apparently she'd even made a show of it, used some terrifying knife move on the two of them that left them down a nose. She said apparently, because she hadn't seen it in person. Vaultie had seen it when he'd scouted the place out and had told her afterwards. He'd been pretty surprised to hear such a person had been in her own squad, but for the life of her, the scout still couldn't remember a thing.

 _What's more surprising is you getting off your ass and scouting the area. Turns out it takes more to disable a ranger than a gunshot wound_.

As for her, she was more preoccupied with picking up rads than stealth. If Vaultie could sneak, than he'd sneak, but if they got into a fight, they'd need someone who could take bullets.

 _Even if it kills me, I'll get this done. And who knows, maybe the raiders'll keep food._

Vaultie had been confused, naturally. After all, if she wanted to be in top form then getting horribly irradiated wouldn't normally help with that.

"Severe radiation poisoning allows me to heal faster," she explained, stepping out of the filthy water and shaking her leg for emphasis. Ignoring the Vault dwellers bald faced shock, she explained as best she could, "It's a ...beneficial mutation? Apparently?"

"I still don't get how that-But wouldn't that make you!-"

"A mutant, yeah." she finished for him, before frowning suspiciously, "You got a problem with it? Most turn a blind eye because they lack _consistency_. They're fine with breaking rules if it suits em."

He quickly composed himself, "It's just that you don't look like a mutant."

"So it's ok to hurt people for looking different?"

"No!... but... it's a lot easier."

She snorted, "unfortunately."

In the moment of silence that followed, The Scout tried to remember his stances on those sorts of things. Did he have any mutant friends, and ghouls under his roof? It was important information.

 _He accepted me even though I was a mutant, so I guess he can't be all bad._

She kept it in mind as she got herself dressed again.

He wasted no time talking once she'd finished, asking"why are you going back?"

"Back where?"

"To the Prydwen even though you might die there." he said, looking at her incredulously as though to say _where else_?

"Oh...Ha... that" she sighed, feeling her stomach sink, "Well, I was kinda planning to go back anyway, just not in chains- and guilty."

"You were planning to go back anyway?" he repeated, disbelieving.

"I was going to make like a shadow and be back next day." she sighed, kicking out at a rock, "But then you saw me, and I guess I'm history now."

"You don't know that!"

"I can guess. Courts in corrupt places like that are always bad. They all just listen to what Maxson says without questioning it one bit."

Vaulties face darkened at her cynicism, but it didn't keep him from responding, "then why not run now you've been caught?"

The hated silence came back after that. Granted, it was _her_ fault this time. She just didn't know what she ought to say to him. The only thing she could do was stare at him, wondering if he was the kind of person she could trust with this.

 _If he isn't trustworthy, it'll have consequences, but I can't expect cooperation if I'm not honest. Just like when I sent him to the settlements, I can't stop now_.

But even all of those justifications didn't make it any easier to tell him. Every word she said felt like a bullet in a mass execution, and she wanted to stop more than once, but she somehow soldiered on, saying, "I... still got people back there back there...counting on me...y'know... so I gotta go back."

"People?"

"Y'know... guys like me who don't have a voice in Maxsons brotherhood. T-they still wanna do everything they can, and I can't stop so long as they don't."

Vaultie was quiet after that, seeming to process the information. It was a tense silence that seemed like it was going to drive The Scout mad with worry, and she did her best to keep from choking as she desperately tried to gauge his reaction. What he did next would tell her if she'd made the right decision in trusting him. As for what she'd do if she hadn't... _who knows_.

"...I guess it's natural for there to be resistance after a revolution." he noted eventually, shrugging.

"Y-Yeah!" she exclaimed, relieved, _I guess he's not completely in Maxson's camp yet_.

As though to encourage it, the man continued "maybe I should meet them sometime."

"I-I see! Well I guess there's Nata-"

"Already met her." Vaultie said, cutting her off and setting her off balance.

"You shouldn't interrupt people," she grunted angrily, before scratching the back of her neck in embarrassment "But thats also kinda the only name I know so..."

"Well there has to be more than one good person in the brotherhood," Vaultie asked, sending her an incredulous look again.

"Well of course! Though if you ask me, labels like good people are worthless anyway!"

"...rWhy's that?" he asked, eyebrows furrowing.

She licked her lips, realising that maybe she'd said too much, "Just that I...don't really know if there's a line between a good person and a bad person. A moment where murder is okay... I mean, I used to but I've learned that that's not a good way to think."

He scoffed, "Obviously."

"Well sor _ry_ for being a dumb 19 year old!" She whispered grumpily. Honestly, no one was madder at her 19 year old self than she was. Even though she'd thought of herself as justified, she'd never once examined herself, just throwing herself into rules with no thought. It had been totally stupid of her.

"We all reap what we sew," she sighed, "It's my responsibility to do my best, cause it's my fault it got this way. That's why I won't leave."

"Even if you die?"

"If I die, maybe I'd deserve it."

"Sometimes it's not about deserving."

"And sometimes it is," she said grimly, "but before we even get to the Prydwen, we have to break through there first."

She pointed to University point, and saw the determination rise in Vaultie's eyes.

"We attack in fifteen then?"

"Right by me."

* * *

Sometimes she wished that she could go back to her nineteen year old self, she'd been on top of the world then -bloodthirsty yes, but assured, strong and capable of doing ... _something_ , at least.

Perhaps it was because of her mindset, back then, she'd never considered hesitating on anything she'd done. After all, what kind of warrior of justice sat around feeling hesitant when ordinary folks were dying! Seeing her now, struggling on killing raiders of all people, her younger self would probably call her pathetic -would yell at her to pick up a gun and go do what's right -but instead, here she sat, half dressed, sneaking through some blasted woods and spiraling into a pit of anxiety.

She needed something to _do_ , something to distract her from the heaviness in her step. Worrying wasn't going to help her at all, all it was doing was wasting time -the one thing they couldn't waste! when Danse had a gun to his head.

 _My responsibilities are the one thing I won't give up. Instead of focusing on the past, I need to look forward._

Not too far forward, though. In the end, it didn't take long for she and Vaultie to scout the perimeter of university point, and once they'd done that, she didn't have the time to look further ahead than the distance in front of her.

If she did, she ran the risk of running into one of their targets. She would've, in fact, if Vaultie hadn't stopped her, holding her back and pointing down at the raider below them.

"Other than him, there's only a few men out here," Vaultie whispered, pulling out his binoculars, "-the rest must have gathered inside."

"And run into some company, from the sound of it," she whispered back, pointing out the muffled sounds of gunfire that flew out the broken windows at least once a minute.

"Mirelurks-" Vaultie muttered, shaking his head, " -I encountered them too last time I was here."

"Sounds like they're having fun," she joked nervously, earning a slight groan from the man.

 _Is he bleeding again?_ She wondered, looking at him with concern _, He's always grumpy when he's bleeding._

He noticed her stare, straightening, "I just don't think now is the time for jokes."

"I- I'm just trying to lighten the mood." she replied weakly, _and keep from going insane_.

Sighing again, he pointed out that, maybe, just maybe, their time would be better spent on attack plans.

"You know, so my friend doesn't get gutted while we're falling over laughing."

Resisting the urge to curl into a ball at the rejection, The Scout quickly agreed and began churning out old tactics.

 _But of course, if we're talking strategy, the first thing we're gonna have to address is that_ , she thought, looking at Vaultie's wounded hands with a heavy feeling.

"I could go alone, y'know." she said tentatively.

"I'm not going to allow that."

"Why not?"

"Because I want to be there."

"But why?" she pressed, starting to get annoyed "do you still not trust me?"

 _I've given my word and made no resistance at all! What else do you want?!_

"That's not what it's about."

"Then what _is_ it about?!"

"It's about you thinking I'm useless," he said bluntly.

That sent her into silence for a moment. The utter disbelief blocking any other thoughts she was going to voice.

 _Your. Hands. Have. a. Hole. In. Them_ , she thought, exasperated, _don't act like ignoring your pain isn't gonna keep you alive. With hands like those, you can't even shoot back._

She was about to point out the problem, so obvious an idiot could see it, when he interrupted her. Again.

"I'm not going to hold you back back."

The Scout was shocked into a momentary silence by it. Not by the interruption, interrupting people was a habit of Vaultie's -but by that look on his face. She'd seen enough of those looks to know that there was no way he was going to change his mind on this quickly.

 _We don't have enough time to fight this._ She thought, shaking her head, _if he wants to come along, I'll have to let him_.

She resisted the urge to groan.

* * *

In the end, her fears had been unfounded. Vaultie's arms had yet to hold them back. It seemed like the guy was reasonable enough to realise he was in no shape to fight. So he didn't try, didn't talk, didn't fight, and he hid really well. As in really, _really_ well, it was kinda creepy, really.

 _But I prefer creepy to 'tells the same story five times and tries to fight a super mutant with a kitchen knife' anyway_ , so for her the situation was fine, at least in that department.

As for their enemies, most of them had been tied up in the building, and that meant their defense was full of holes. She guessed that the band hadn't been expecting anyone to attack the day of their arrival, so they'd gotten complacent as a result. Not complacent enough to leave the searchlight off, of course, but enough that Vaultie and his escort could slip through rather comfortably.

Fortunately, since they'd already chosen their target from on high, it didn't take long for them to reach their entirely unaware target. Stepping lightly enough that the raider'd hear her breathing before her footsteps, The Scout made her way around the block until she was staring straight into his back, and then she hesitated.

She couldn't tell why, exactly, and not for lack of trying. She'd've loved to know, but all she could manage was to puzzle over it, waiting minute after minute in the dead silence and unable to force her legs to move the way she wanted to.

Eventually, it grew to be too much for Vaultie, "what are you waiting for?" he whispered harshly.

Startled, she turned to him, guilt and indecision written across her features.

"...Well," she began cautiously, "You don't think it'd be possible for us to do this all gentle like?"

There was a silence then, heavier than ever before. Crazy, considering how the silence was pretty heavy already.

"You mean like... gently slitting his throat?"

"No..."

"Gently stabbing him in the spine?" he continued, a sarcastic tilt to his statement.

The Scout could only look down guiltily.

"Well we can't just argue about it," he exclaimed, throwing up his hands, "h-he's right there!"

"I know that," she replied weakly, lowering the knife as she thought about what to do "But I can't do it right now…"

She just needed to _think_ on it for a second. Unfortunately for her, it seemed like one second lost was a second too long. In her moment of weakness, Vaultie grew tired of it and quickly made a move on his own.

In the past, she'd probably have thanked him for what happened next, her half baked excuses weren't getting her anywhere, but as she was now she couldn't say the same. She could only watch in something like horror as he grabbed the knife, silently crossed the immeasurable distance that seemed to have leaped up between them, and slammed it into the raider's neck. She continued watching, speechless as the lifeless body slid to the ground beneath them, standing stock still as Vaultie struggled to keep the searchlight from wandering off target and alerting the patrols.

She knew she should have been up there helping him -both their lives depended on it -but she couldn't bring herself to take a single step. She could only look at the corpse. Look, and wonder when exactly she had changed. When exactly she had started viewing violence as something terrible, and how she was even supposed to _feel_ about this-

"W-We didn't have to kill him!" she sputtered, finally shaking off the shock after what felt like an age, "we could've knocked him out or something!"

She was met with a blank, unreadable stare. Slowly, as though speaking to a child, Vaultie replied "miss, he's a _raider_."

"T-that doesn't mean we should just _kill_ him!"

"If we don't he will wake up and tell the raiders to kill Danse."

"But we could have tied him up or something! We still have the stuff you used-!"

"There are six raiders out here, and ten inside."

"That doesn't mean we shouldn't _-"_

"They're really not worth it Wanderer."

"Of course they're worth it, they're people! " she hissed, pointing squarely at Vaultie, "besides! Who says _you_ can put a value on a life!"

He didn't waste a second "another life."

"What?"

"Lives are priceless, which means some lives are worth more than others."

"H-how does that even make sense," she stuttered, trying to wrap her head around the insanity of his statements.

 _If something's infinite, it can't be more valuable than something else infinite! Even I know that and I'm awful at math_!

"If a life is priceless then someone who kills tens of people has an impossible debt."

"Wha-"

"-And if they don't plan on stopping you need to stop them."

"Non violently!" she snapped, "I mean these guys are- were- members of the brotherhood!"

"But they aren't any more."

"But they were! Doesn't that mean anything?! Don't they deserve a second chance?!"

"Well it'd be nice if we could hand out second chances-" he said sharply, turning to her exasperatedly, "-but we can't."

"You don't know that!" she exclaimed, pointing at him, "You've just already given up to make it easier on you!"

"Well that's better than letting a bunch of murderers go free!"

"They aren't just murderers! They must have reaso-!"

Vaultie glared at her, wringing his bandaged arms in the air in a fruitless effort to control his frustration. " _Everyone_ -" he spat out, "has a reason. _Doesn't_ make it right."

"Well maybe…" she started, biting her lip with hesitance. Even she could already tell that what she was about to say was ridiculous but… she still had to say it.

"-Well maybe _everyone_ deserves a second chance."

The silence that followed was long and charged. Vaultie must have thought she was joking, or that she'd take it back, because he hadn't said a thing. Eventually, he just shook his head, groaning and turning away from her.

"So you aren't going to help me."

"Don't put words in my mouth. I'll help. My way."

"Your way is no help."

"Don't say that when you haven't even tried it yet," she growled, "it's not like you'll be the on-."

"Even if you're the one fighting," he interrupted, seeming to read her mind, "we're still doomed."

* * *

When it came to analysing the wanderer, the people of D.C. had always, always, made one mistake. They'd thought that she'd been cold -some kind of justice driven vault sociopath who stood for the common man. But the truth was very different, because sociopaths were people who didn't care, and in reality she cared a hell of a lot. She'd just gotten better at excusing it, is all.

 _At the start, before I learned to put on a strong face and remember all my 'why's', there was a lot of retching and crying involved. No one knows, of course, it was miles away from anyone, but it happened._

A gag every time she pushed in a knife, a choke every time she pulled the trigger, the nausea that seized her every time she rifled through the bloodstained bodies that lined the halls. Back at the beginning, it had been hell.

 _Then I saw the bodies, the torture and the things they did to the settlers. After that...well let's just say it's a lot easier to kill people when they act like super mutants._

Comparisons like that had helped her push the tears away, to become a person who could still put on a smile after killing an entire town's worth of people. But during the second schism it had been different. She'd been torn apart on the inside every single day she had to fight, and all the why's in the world couldn't fix her.

 _They were my brothers, once, but then they fought me. I didn't get why? We all wanted to protect the wasteland, but not by killing each other!_

Maybe she'd realised, back then, that her 'why's' had been useless... Well, she certainly knew now.

Now, seeing that those brothers she'd fought beside years ago had become the same raiders that she'd called monsters and killed, the full weight of what she'd done was finally starting to kick in.

* * *

The first raider went down louder than she'd have liked. It was mostly her fault though. Since it'd been awhile since she'd had to take someone down non lethally out of training, she'd messed up the chokehold.

The next few seconds had been tense, with the woman managing to thrash around in spite of her. She'd worried that she'd alert her friends, but thankfully it hadn't come to that. The raider had quieted down after a good amount of time, with noone the wiser, and her worries had been put to bed with her.

It was all but a perfect k.o. Aside from the bruises she'd sustained.

 _No biggie though, no biggie…_ she thought, rubbing her cheek where it was sore _, I'm prepared to take a few bruises if it means that people don't have to pay for my mistakes anymore._

Still, she felt a little ashamed to have done such an amateur job. She'd had an excuse back when she was a murderous 19 year old. But after having gone great lengths to learn during the second schism, there wasn't any sort of reason for why she'd let herself go like this _._

 _Maybe I thought that I'd never need it again, after getting stuck in the Prydwen._ She thought, before darkening. _Or maybe I just didn't want to be hated even more._

In the war, even her friends had hated how she insisted on non lethal takedowns. Every soldier she let get away was another soldier who'd fight them later, so in their eyes, her refusal to kill made her worse than useless.

" _You're either with us or against us, sister."_

But even then she'd been a bullheaded brat that chose her own way, so she'd continued training regardless, ignoring the hate that was thrown at her. Afterwards, Natalia had told her that she was rebelling against something called a false dikotomi, and had given her a volume of pugilism illustrated that focused on non-lethal takedowns as a gift.

 _I should thank her when I get back_ , The Scout thought, licking her lips as she prepared continue, _it's thanks to her that I even have a chance of doing this._

* * *

"You're really serious about this." Vaultie sighed, shaking his head as she tied down her eighth raider.

"Why wouldn't I be," she growled, "it's no skin off my back."

"I'd say you're already a wreck, actually" he replied dryly, kicking her and watching her tumble over.

She scrambled up, "d-don't pretend that that proves anything."

It was only a brave face though. Truth was, she could already feel her arms shaking and her heart going a million beats per minute. Every single raider struggled, every single hold ached, and if it weren't for her throwing every ounce she had into it, she'd have already collapsed by now.

 _Eight down_ , she thought, panting heavily as she crawled up the hall. _Eight left and this is all over. I can have a big sleep and wake up sunny and refreshed and head into tomorrow._

Vaultie shook his head in something almost like pity.

"You aren't going to last like this."

"That's what everyone says, but I'm still here, y'know."

 _I've got a job to do, and I ain't gonna quit._

* * *

The thirteenth one looked a little like Deloria on a bad night if you squished his face a little and dyed his hair brown. Granted, she hadn't seen Deloria since she'd smuggled him out of the area a week before the battle of rivet city, so he probably looked completely different now.

She was glad that he _wasn't_ Deloria, of course -but a small part of her wondered if it would've been better if he had been. After all, at least she would've known he was alive, rather than dealing with the cold pit in her stomach every day when she wondered what she'd ever achieved in that war.

 _But things are different now. I can make a difference like this. A person that I helped back then is right in front of me, and I can fix them!_

 _I won't screw up this time!_

* * *

The fifteenth one should have been easy. Standing there, completely and leaning on the balcony without a care, the scout had almost expected him to fall unconscious on his own. Unfortunately, as she soon found out, they'd been underestimating him.

Perhaps they'd gotten overconfident, or maybe this guy's instincts were just better than expected, and her tried reflexes couldn't compare. Either way, the mark turned around the moment she was going to clock him and drove a knife straight into her side, almost yelling.

The next few moments passed in a flash. She and the raider fell to the ground on top of each other, grappling for the weapon and any advantage they could. The knife dug deeper with every second of it, sending ringing pain rushing through her ears, and blurring her vision. She was sure she was going to fall unconscious, leave Vaultie alone with a maniac, but then it all stopped when Vaultie drove his own knife into the raiders spine and pushed him off of her.

No longer pinned down by the raiders weight, The Scout threw herself away, trying to find purchase.

She slammed into the wall, the impact wracking her with pain as the knife tore through. Panicked, she tried to drag it out, but every time she did, it came with skin and blood and red and soon she just couldn't take it anymore.

Seeing her struggles, Vaultie quickly came over and shushed her, taking the knife in his own bloodied hands instead. Unable to think too hard, she took all the stability she could from his presence, and tried to control herself like she always used to.

Breathe. _Breathe_. Ignore it. Pain is just a brain response _so ignore it_.

It was probably thanks to their efforts that it only took took two more minutes to get the thing out. Vaulties mechanical precision minimised the pain, and she put everything she had into staying perfectly still for his sake. Once it was all over, it was like the whole world cooled down and came into clarity. A long, beautiful exhalation to match The Scout's own relief.

"I told you this would happen," Vaultie said tersely, looking down at her pityingly as he nursed his own bloody wounds.

She didn't have the strength to get mad, "worth it," she groaned, "14 alive."

Vaultie said nothing to that, only shaking his head and heading off to look for some bandages. She watched him disappear down the tunnel, leaving her by her lonesome with a dead body and a hole in her waist. Once he'd left, there was nothing to see except the raider, so she'd tried to look at it instead. In the end, though, she couldn't hold the gaze for more than a few seconds. Even after he'd tried to kill her, she still could only see him as a human. He looked too normal. So normal that seeing his blood drip through the grating into the water below left her feeling sick.

Although...it was probably a good thing, really. A person _should_ feel sick after they killed someone. If they didn't, there'd be no justice.

 _People had told me fighting was in my nature. Seems like the mental state required isn't though. A pity, I guess._

With thoughts like that, she fell again into that dark pit. Even though she told herself that she'd already saved 14, the thought that she'd already failed to save 1 filled her with shame.

 _If only I could turn back time and do things right? I would…_

But that was impossible -a useless thought. If she turning back time was an option, there's no way she'd be in this situation. This was the world she had to deal with. The world she'd made.

Twisting that darkness into resolve, she slowly stood up and held back screams until Vaultie returned, bandages in hand.

He took one look at her, bleeding, shaking, red eyed, yet still standing despite all of that, and his eyes were coloured with something she hoped was respect.

"You'd make a good minuteman."

She was floored. Literally." _What_?"

"They value people willing to fight for something." he explained simply, dropping the bandages next to her.

"I'm literally basing my entire identity around not fighting!" she shrieked, the atmosphere she'd gone to literal pain to create evaporating instantly, " _what about this yells armed militia to you!?_ "

"Fighting doesn't always mean killing _if_ you can handle it."

"OH So you think I can _handle_ it now?" she gripped at her heart, "I'm _so_ honoured."

"Well you've proven that here." he replied, nonplussed.

"Thanks for the acknowledgement! Good to hear it!" she answered, nodding sarcastically, "But there's still no way I'd make a good minuteman!"

She had no place in any army, the schism had taught her that, and yet Vaultie persisted.

"They fight because they're willing to put their neck on the line for the big picture... You do too."

She would've made a pithy remark at that. After all, she knew that she hadn't been the kind of person who cared for pictures back then. Need help? Go to her, it'd always been her way. Even so, she could tell he was serious.

"You…" he said, seeming to have difficulties, "y-you're following through on what you want even if you aren't perfect-"

"Say it like it is, I wasn't good enough." she muttered miserably.

He looked at her gently, "it's good enough for now."

* * *

Ugh. this took so long. Multitasking is awful.


	13. Radicalisation

Disclaimer: I do not own Fallout.

* * *

The double doors were huge, which was always a bad sign. In The Scout's experience, big doors equaled big rooms, and big rooms always meant trouble.

For once, Vaultie seemed to agree with her. On how bad big doors were, of course.

"You shouldn't expect this to go easily," he said.

"I know that," she growled, pressing her hands to the door and preparing to open it, "I'm not an idiot."

A few second passed like that, hand's on the doors, entire body tensed to breaking. Then a few more seconds passed, and then a few more. Until she could count them draining away with each imaginary tick. Even as the air became so heavy with tension that she could barely breathe she still couldn't bring herself to press forwards.

The wasted time got to Vaultie as well, "any time this century?"

"..."

"We don't have all day you know."

"Of course I know-" she snapped, "I just -I'm considering things."

 _I don't want to...I can't open it. What kind of coward-_

She shook her head, trying to ignore the thoughts and speak calmly, "What did you mean -back when you said that it was a bad situation?"

Vaultie's eyebrows rose, "I meant that you might have to kill, of course."

Something inside her snapped. She thought it might have been her patience, or maybe it was the insult that broke her back. After all, did he really think that she didn't know that she might have to actually kill!? Did he really-

She laughed, she couldn't stop herself, it was just so -so stupid? Insulting? Hopeless? It crawled up her throat and spilt out into the room.

He looked at her critically, "I hope you know that If you don't take this seriously you'll die."

 _So what_ , she thought, _my life is the only one I have the right to throw away anywa-_

"And if you die Danse will too. Probably me as well," he added attentively. In her stunned silence that followed, he took a deep breath, then continued, words pouring out of his mouth so fast she could barely catch them "and if that happens the Minutemen will be down their leader and main actor so the wasteland itself will suffer a loss just in this last month I've rescued fifteen kidnapped settlers exterminated four ghoul lairs three raider dens seventeen robots and protected at least four settlements from oncoming attacks in addition I rescued a detective helped a boat of robots dealt helped create an antidote for a rare infectious outbreak even though I became ill and attacked a tower full of-"

He didn't stop until it had become a minute long tirade. He kept listing them off -all his achievements, his jobs, his duties, mechanically like some kind of robot. She was feeling her jaw drop at the weight of it.

 _To think I was all proud of a couple of figure eights._ A voice came to mind, one she hadn't thought of for a long time, _Inefficient figure eights too._

"-So if I die, then it'd be really bad for the people you claim to protect. Just so you know."

Then an awkward silence fell over them, louder than anything. It was like that now the world had been filled with noise, its natural state had stopped being silence.

He stretched, "thirteen is enough." he said.

"..."

"Nobody is expecting you to be a superhero. They just want you to be capable of realising that some lives have value"

"..."

"Yours is one of them."

Her head shot up, eyes widening and centering on his face. She couldn't believe that he'd say that to her even after she explained it all -why she wasn't a good person, why everyone else deserved better, why she was different and had nothing to offer -it's not as though she wanted to die, but what did she have left?

Fighting to protect people had been all she was good for, now she couldn't even do that.

Then again, maybe he was just the wrong person to ask. From that whole speech he'd just given she could tell that he wasn't a paragon of mercy...and yet she didn't want to reject those words. She hadn't heard them in years, hadn't felt the certainty of someone's approval for so long-

He only shrugged, "it had to be said."

There was silence then, for a few moments, before suddenly he said "for what it's worth, I didn't even think you'd save thirteen. You've given me a lot to think about so- so don't mess it up now."

Then he reached forward and pushed the door open, almost sending her tumbling out into the light.

 _Ooooh fuck you-_

She barely kept from face planting, arms windmilling frantically as she stomped her leg down and regained balance. A part of her was sure that she was about to die, her embarrassing fall coming across as some kinda strange attack or something, but bullets didn't fly like she'd thought they would. She was just about ready to turn around and give the bastard a what for when she saw the glint of metal and realised she was smack in front of a rifle barrel.

Slowly, she raised her arms, backing away as her anger drained out and was replaced by precision. Once she was at least moderately sure that they wouldn't shoot her just for looking about, she nervously stole a sight of what she was dealing with.

Danse was unarmoured and on the ground, typical of a hostage, and behind him, the raider boss had her gun up to his neck. In addition, there seemed to be at least three raiders in the room, counting the one behind Danse, and some crude cover that benefited no one but the opposition. Finally, from the sound of footsteps crunching up behind her, she could assume that Vaultie'd walked out alongside her instead of hiding in the shadows like a sane, rational person with no hands would.

 _Just fantastic._

"Checked behind us, there's just these three," he whispered.

A gun cocked, "No whispe-."

"Alrighty."

"What did I ju-"

"What do you want for him," The Scout said loudly, leaning her head towards Danse as she tried to keep it all from spiralling out of control, "I assume you aren't going to just give him up without a fight."

The boss wasn't happy to be interrupted, "As if I'd do something stupid as that!" he voice went low, "I wouldn't make it out of this room and you know it, _murderer_."

"Pot calling the kettle black." -Vaultie mumbled it before she could say anything.

The raiders head snapped round, "what's that s'pposed to mean?"

"Raiders don't get to talk about murder to the person that spared all their men."

Danse's head shot up at the same time as the raiders head snapped to her again, "What."

"They're all alive, she didn't kill a single one of them."

"Y-yeah," she stammered, "we didn't kill any of them! so you don't need to kill our guy! We can be all good natured here!"

The Raider's eyes flashed, "bullshit."

She blinked, "what?"

"I _said_ it's bullshit -even if I give him back and get out of here alive, I'll still be hunted down after," she shook her head, a strange grin replacing her earlier anger, "no, I can't just give em back. I have one condition."

She pointed squarely at Vaultie, "I want to kill him."

It was only from years of experience with insults and tones that The Scouts body reacted before her brain did, acting on pure instinct and flying at Vaultie just as the world exploded around her.

The two of them fell to the ground. Vaultie cursed, but she didn't have time to think about it, instead scrambling up and looking for anything she could. Her flailing landed her on something hard and metal. Beggars couldn't be choosers, so she did what she could and pulled it out, slamming it into the ground behind them and turning to Vaultie.

His eyes were wide, they flitted about, from the rubble, to the flying bullets, to her own shaking arms, "The FUCk-"

"Are you ok?!"

"Are you!?" he cried, "you just got _shot_ and then ripped a piece of 10 tonne-"

It was a good enough answer for her so she turned away, ignoring the rest of his sentence and yelling over the rubble.

"We don't need to fight!"

"Not if you hand that bastard over," the boss snarled, "that guys the head of the Minutemen, he hunts us for a living, and if he didn't-" she heard a slam, and a grunt of pain from the paladin, "they would."

"They wouldn't bother if you didn't make trouble!-"

"You think they give a crap about that when I'm an outcast?!" she roared, "they'll slaughter me and pat themselves on the back! Make me a notch on their goddamn armor to pretend they're the fucking heroes!"

There was another slam, this time Danse's grunt was a full blown cry of pain.

Vaultie didn't appreciate it, she could see him straining to get up over the cover in a full blown glare, "you sure they _wouldn't_ be the heroes in this situation?" he growled.

Hastily, she pulled him back "Just ca-"

"I'm not going to be calm when she's trying to kill us!"

"I'm not going to let her kill us!" she cried, "Just -just wait. Ok."

He looked like he was about to protest, but she didn't have the time or energy for it, so instead she pulled herself up and shoved her head over the cover for just a split second-

Bullets flew as soon as she poked it out, but she tried to drown them out, concentrating on figuring out the raiders placements and firearms before her brains painted the wall.

What she saw was comforting. Despite the heavy fire, she could tell that neither of the raiders had moved much, plus Danse was still kicking, though he was certainly in harm's way, and while the flying bullets were a bit scary, she could tell just by hearing that their magazines wouldn't last much longer. Popping back down, she drew her rifle.

Then she threw it across the room, letting silence reign as skidded against the floor.

Vaultie went pale, "Ms Wanderer-"

"If we don't go all in, we'll be the ones to blame when they kill Danse," she said tersely, throwing her knife too, "we need a plan, and until then, I'm gonna be honest with myself."

Her pistol flew off next, Vaultie watched in disbelief for a few seconds, only coming back to life when she unhooked her grenades as, "Ok -ok just- stop throwing your weapons away," he gulped, "I have a plan."

She slowed, letting her arm fall to her side as she looked at him with narrowed eyes, "Well, what is it?"

"I need to get into the shadows to take out the one on the left."

She looked where he was pointing, realisation dawning- "that'll free up some cover for Danse."

He nodded, "But you'll have to distract the boss so he can get behind it in the first place."

The Scout thought about it. She couldn't find any glaring problems with the plan, but that didn't mean that there weren't any. She could get shot, Vaultie could get caught, and even if they did everything perfectly, if Danse's first instinct wasn't to dive over the cover then it'd all be for nothing.

 _On top of all that-_ "I assume it's my job to make sure she doesn't just lean over the cover and shoot him?" she asked, gesturing to where she thought the raider boss would be.

He looked at her grimly, "I'm afraid so."

 _Typical_ , she thought tiredly, _of course I get the hard job._

Still, she couldn't back down just for that. Life was full of gambles and problems, and if you ran away from them all you wouldn't get anywhere. Sometimes you just had to ignore the odds and move forward.

So she nodded, and with that he fell back into the shadows, moving so quickly she almost cried out.

 _Jeez,_ she thought, covering her mouth before she gave him away, _one moment they're here and the next they're gone!_

The thought filled her with a strange feeling, not quite confidence, but something like it. It was too late to back out now, she had a job to do, if she died, she died, there was nothing left.

 _It feels...like old times._

-She could almost feel the wasteland stretching out behind her, just waiting to come up and swallow her whole. This endless oppressive feeling.

Back then she'd learned to ignore it, she'd have to relearn that, starting now.

 _Maybe we should begin by asking what needs to be asked._

With that thought, she made her decision, and yelled it out without wasting another second.

"Why did you do it!?"

The Raider's lips curled into a snarl,"cause they _made_ me."

"That's not an explanation!" she responded, "How did they make you!? If you think about it there's got to be anothe-"

She was cut off by a cry of pain from Danse, "don't start being all self righteous!" the raider threatened, "you don't have the right to talk about anything! You haven't been through what we have!"

"What!? You think I haven't been hungry or alone before!?"

"You ain't _never_ been blacklisted! You ain't never been _hunted!_ You ain't never been _denied food for being an enemy of the local royalty! You_ can't complain about them doing what they have to to survive!"

"So what?!" she demanded, shaking her head, "you stole and murdered the wasters we were supposed to help!? There had to be another way!"

"I don't give a damn, do you think they give a damn about principle out there!?"

"You still didn't have to kill-"

"Don't you fucking talk to me about killing! You're a goddamn traitor who killed your own allies when you sided with those guys!-" her voice became mocking, "-and that's not even counting your loyalty mission eh? What happened there, in the end? _Wanderer?_ "

Her words froze The Scout's blood, chilling her veins until she was so stiff that every flinch and breath wracked her body with pain. She didn't get it! How could she know! How could she have possibly known about that! -the thoughts flooded in and broke on impact, scrambling beside a screen of eyes- she could see them right in front of her -hundreds of eyes -eye's full of determination -eye

"That-" she choked, pushing it all away and trying to wrestle back control over her heart, " That was- I- I did that because I-"

"I don't wanna hear it, traitor," the boss said bluntly, kicking Danse hard in the face, "I don't wanna hear some brotherhood lapdog yap anymore-" her voice fell to a venomous whisper, "you're nothing but a coward, so don't go pretending you're all trustworthy now." then she pointed her weapon at her face for a single split second.

The boss seemed to immediately realise what a monumentally bad move that was, The Scout could see her eyes widening in panic before Danse knocked her leg off and dived over the cover in the same second that Vaultie rushed forward from the shadows and downed the only raider with a clear shot at him.

The Scout didn't leave them on their lonesome. Actually, in a way, she was glad that it had come down to this -battle was a mercy that had always let her put complicated things aside, at least for a little while. For now, she didn't have to think about the past or her own mistakes -she just had to follow those tumbling shadows and reach out.

 _-There's no way I'm going to sit here doing nothing while those two fight! I can't let the boss lean over that cover, I gotta keep her occupied no matter what!_

So she ran ahead and threw herself at the raider even though the gun was still aimed at her. For a split second, she saw wide, bloodshot eyes flick over to stare straight into hers, blue like loss and memories -then there was a flash of tearing, white hot flame against the side of her face, so heavy her head snapped back from the force of it. She felt something shatter, shards digging about on the inside of her cheek as her jaw sagged and fell.

She'd been shot, she could tell that, and in all honesty, a part of her felt like she'd be broken in half from the force of it.

-Of course, that was just a silly, unfounded, assumption, instead momentum carried her forwards, spraying blood and skin before she slammed straight into her enemy and grappled desperately with her.

The raider caught her, but she couldn't hold her even with two hands and was soon driven to the floor. Something skidded then - and the air filled with noise -someone screamed -gunpowder stank in the air- something flashed -someone cried -so many things happened that all sank into each other, mixing into an incomprehensible mess that they had no chance of understanding as they grappled in a world with just the two of them -then a body fell from the sky, thudding against the ground next to them and bringing The Scout back to reality. A gun clattered to the ground directly to the right. Eager for an advantage, she kicked out to the right, grasping for where she knew it had fallen.

When she found it, she turned around and pointed it at the woman's head.

She almost pulled the trigger just out of habit.

But she didn't, she couldn't, so instead she stood there for a second, weapon trained on the stiff, panting raider.

Things remained like that for a few seconds, stuck in time while the world was turned red with pain. A more rational yet absurd part of her seemed to laughed, it seemed her hesitance didn't discriminate between doors and murder.

 _How weak of me,_ it thought _, she'd be ashamed of me._

 _She's dead_ , another part said, _she's got nothing to say_.

She wished she could share their detachment, but the shaking of her hands denied her that, _I have to- I,_ she thought, _I have to-_

Detain her, to stop her (Could she do it without killing her) -shoot her, hold her- she didn't want to kill-

"Just do it" muttered the raider, interrupting her thoughts, "it was always either me or the rest of you, may as well die now. And if I am gonna die…" She trailed off, before locking eyes with The Scout and lunging forward, taking the barrel of the weapon and shoving it under her neck. "... Then I don't wanna be killed by a Paladin, or a paladin's bitch- although" she snickered, "I suppose that goes for you too now don't it?"

There was a stabbing feeling through her hand. It dragged in and out bringing strings of flesh and viscera with it. She didn't even have to look to know that she'd been stabbed.

"Now show me there's still some goddamn wanderer in there."

She closed her eyes as the shot ran out. Behind closed eyes she saw an orange sky, a familiar wasteland and a familiar scene.

When they finally opened again, it was metal and concrete. In the moment before she lost consciousness, she felt the ground press up against her all at once and realised she must have fallen down.

Her entire body ached, and then it didn't. Her hand ached, pulling closed around something thin and silver.

And then it didn't.

* * *

*Still regrets not making the chapters 1000 words long* *Also regrets losing all my productivity for a month +* *there are many things to regret really* Happy Chinese New year/ Spring break though!


	14. Starvation

**Disclaimer: I do not own fallout.**

* * *

They passed the next few minutes in silence, neither of them were in the mood for talking. The paladins' brush with death and the wanderers following collapse had left them both speechless. The Vault Dweller out of both relief and sullen respect, and Danse out of...

Well, he couldn't really speak for another person, especially one with a helmet on, but he felt it had to be something of disbelief, maybe with a small addition of disgust, too, if his tone read true.

It certainly wasn't admiration, "I can't believe she fainted over having to kill a _raider_."

"Oh I'm sure it was _also_ the injuries." The Vault Dweller reasoned, _speaking of which_ , he leaned over, intending to attend the things.

As soon as he saw it, he had to resist the urge to flinch. Her jaw had been completely shattered and the skin if her jowls had been torn apart, leaving only a mass of torn flesh and bone in the place of skin.

It wasn't anything he hadn't seen before, sitting there on that snow-covered battlefield, but it was something he'd hoped never to see again.

He was eager to finish, so he checked it quickly before going to gather bandages to wrap it up with. While he completed the first task in record time, the rest was hard work, he was no medic, and, unfortunately, he couldn't count on help since aiding the traitor seemed to be the last thing on Danse's mind.

"She'll be up in a day," he scoffed, "this was definitely psychological."

...Or maybe he just had far too much faith in her mutant regenerative abilities.

As incredulous as the statement made him after seeing the extent of the damage, The Vault Dweller had to acknowledge that he had a point. The wanderer herself had told him about her radioactive regeneration -as insane as it was, and he'd seen firsthand how this day had made her retch, cry and shriek. He wouldn't put it past her to faint as well after all that.

His thoughts were derailed by a particularly loud groan, he quickly looked down at her face, "surely she can't be awake already…"

She wasn't, as it turned out. She was still sleeping like a rock, so either he'd done something terribly wrong with the healing process, or she was having a nightmare.

"...she's different" the paladin muttered bitterly at the sight.

The Vault Dweller no longer had to question whether there was disgust in his voice. He would have sighed but his curiosity got the better of him, "what was she like?"

He answered without hesitation, "she was a complete waste of potential."

"...potential?"

He nodded, "she was a monster. Not a drop of leadership ability but enough strength to take down an entire base on her own and a killcount in the quadruple digits-" The Vault Dweller felt his jaw drop, but Danse didn't seem to notice, "-so of course what she does is fight three worthless wars and take up an endless conflict with the raiders..."

The Vault Dweller didn't respond at first. He was still reeling over the statistic. _Quadruple digits!- What the fuck- thousand or thousands? -How can there even be that many raiders-_

His mind froze at the final thought, something cold crawling up his spine. This new information sounded ridiculous -it _was_ -but it also would've explained her pacifism. It would only be natural for a mass murderer to regret, although-

"Doesn't that kind of sound like what we do?" _Aside from the quadruple digits! What the fu-_

"It's different," Danse said obstinately.

"...how?"

"For one we have a plan. For another, we know to salt the earth where we stop them."

"Salt the earth?" he tried to conceal the anxiety those words leant to him. He'd heard them too many times in too many cruel situations to trust them on their own.

Danse was quick to explain, "we can't properly occupy the infrastructure they use, so we break it down and use it to consolidate our shorter borders."

The Vault Dweller's eyes narrowed, it was a conscious move, "and the wastelanders on the edges?"

"Better with us than the raiders." Danse shrugged. "What?" he continued, seeing the look on his face, "They'd only die anyway out there."

"And they work the fields against their will and give up their rightful produce as taxes."

There was a silence, then "we only take half". He felt his eyebrows rise at the number, it was higher than last time, "-and besides, it goes back to them as protection."

"But you take away the land they've lived on."

"It's unsafe, if we didn't they'd be killed."

"You force them to work on plantations."

"We wouldn't be able to feed them otherwise-"

"Why can't they feed themselves-"

"Because when they tried they'd be attacked by raiders and their labour would be _stolen,_ " Danse almost yelled it out, "we're bringing _security_."

 _Security, huh._

"So let me get this straight." The Vault Dweller said slowly, "you take their food, force them into centralised locations, have them work in the fields, then take their produce and redistribute it according to your government -all while proclaiming that you're doing it for their own good," he injected just the slightest amount of hostility in, just so the paladin would know not to play around, "and you don't care about their civil and political rights."

Metal scraped against metal as the helmet went off. Danse looked at him, eyes utterly sincere.

"It's not how it sounds. We aren't china. We aren't _corrupt._ "

The Vault Dweller clicked his tongue at that, setting off a silence that permeated the room. He took advantage of it to move The Scout to a more suitable location, and to think.

The paladin had been quick to see the communism accusation -though it probably wasn't hard to guess, with his background. Still, his answers hadn't been completely unsatisfactory. The rise from a third to a half was worrying, but the wasteland was a dangerous place, full to the brim with people too wrapped up in their own survival to help anyone else. It was shattered, and it would take a strong government to pull it together again.

 _But why can't the government arise from the people,_ he wanted to ask, _what's wrong with the minuteman's method-_

"What was wrong with _her_ way." he asked instead, since the two were functionally the same and she was a far more acceptable target in his company.

" _Her_ to way got us into the western expansion, the failed one." the paladin said, stressing the word with an ironic amount of superiority considering it was a ploy, "Not to mention it split the brotherhood in half."

Seeing his expression, the only thing that The Vault Dweller could think was _I'm not surprised_. _Though I'm sure that if they were anything like her they'd've disapproved of the anti ghoul, anti-mutant sentiment as well._

Danse seemed to guess that something was off because he defended himself without prompting. "I won't say they were wrong for wanting to help people, but in the end the only thing they achieved was burning out and being exterminated during the second schism, if it hadn't been for people like her, a lot of good soldiers would still be around."

* * *

She'd tried to free Charon in a lot of ways -she never wanted it to be said that The Lone Wanderer owned a slave. Said slave had warned her that it would be harder than just tearing the damn thing up, but that hadn't stopped her from giving it a shot.

She'd eaten it afterwards, too, so that no one would be able to order him around except her. Then she'd ordered him to stop following her orders.

It didn't work, of course, he'd just looked at her like she was an idiot. In the end, though, he'd accepted it and gone free range with a few caveats. She liked to think he was grateful for that, even if it had led to his death.

She hadn't been there when he'd died. Charon's contract would've ordered him to fight for her, and she couldn't bear to risk the contract forcing him to betray his loyalties. Even so, she wanted to believe he'd died proud down there in the underworld, with the people he'd decided on his own to protect, even if only a few lonely peashooters stood with him.

Afterwards, she'd heard the stories of how he fought like a demon till the last, taking two lost limbs and a thousand shells to take down -and from the aftermath, it seemed like the terrible shotgun had lived up to its name.

The Brotherhood didn't credit all these achievements to Charon of course. No, they'd just registered him as a latent reaver.

It pissed her off. Reavers were the worst kind of ferals, they were crazed, insane, and vicious, and the idea that someone could refer to Charon like that was just _wrong_. How could someone watch him go through life, smiling, sleeping, speaking more sentences than some humans, and call him less than a person?

Well, 'how' was a stupid question. she knew how and she knew why. It was too much to ask for them to acknowledge a nonhuman, especially one that had cut through them like butter.

She'd expected that, but she hadn't expected what came next. Even after he'd died and she'd proven her loyalty to the brotherhood over him, the suspicion against her had stuck around, grown even, to the point that even she could feel it in the air!

"She gave the reaver a shotgun and _didn't_ take it back?" Oh what a crime! Treasonous almost!

Fucking stupid. Couldn't they tell that if she were planning to rebel she'd've been out there with him? If she had, he'd probably be with her right then, alive.

But then others would be dead, wouldn't they? None of the brothers would've returned instead of five. More than that, her operations would have been exposed. Fawkes and her sister wouldn't have been able to cover the escape of those innocent ghouls and synths behind brotherhood lines, Butch wouldn't have made it out with her precious Dogmeat, and the ghouls of the capital wasteland would've been massacred. Thirty lives for thirty, or quadruple digits for none, that's how it always was in the wasteland.

She hated the fact that it was like that.

Just why the hell did it have to be like that!?

* * *

The paladin hadn't lied when he said that the lady had been a fast healer. It had only been a few hours since she'd had a hole in her face stitched up and already she'd stabilised.

It was utterly incredible -so much that the scholarly part of his mind even found it a little fascinating. Usually if you wanted to see someone's skin scab up and grow back it took months of unhygienic study -here he could see the blood congeal in real time.

If there had been more of such impulses he might have found it worth that same sort of study, but there was far more soldier in him, and that part of him only thought it was unpleasant to look at. With every cracking bone or popped teeth he had to wonder if it wasn't painfully unpleasant on her end as well.

The groans had given him that idea, but he got the feeling that those weren't caused by mutant healing powers. If they were, she probably wouldn't have been groaning legible mutterings.

Fifteen minutes. That's how long it had been since she'd started the sleeptalking, and in spite of how wrong it felt, he hadn't moved once from next to her in that time. He knew that he needed to be close in case of disaster, but it didn't help with the guilt he felt at having violated her privacy.

Things grew even more uncomfortable when names started coming through. He'd wanted to wake her up at that point before she said something delicate, but he knew the woman needed sleep, deserved it even, so he'd just stayed still again.

Now the tears had started to fall, and it was all he could do to not break. He knew first hand how bad nightmares could get, and he desperately wanted to do something for her -to shout or shake or anything to get her out of at least one hardship -but he knew that if he woke her up she'd just have to suffer through it while she was awake, so he'd hold back even if it made him feel like utterly useless.

He had to do something to take his mind off it, so instead, he thought about solutions. Just like her, he'd suffered from nightmares, but after all these years he liked to think he'd grown semi-functional. The problem was that on top of having a loving wife and a government paid therapist he was still one of the lucky ones, and he didn't know if anyone in this wasteland would be lucky like that again.

This woman didn't have a therapist because America didn't have therapists anymore. The whole system was a wreck, and the only option he could see was to try and set her up with someone.

 _The other possibility,_ he thought, _is that she actually does have a therapist. I wouldn't put it past an organised military like the brotherhood to have basic psychological welfare._

Unfortunately, the only person around left to ask was the paladin, and he was fairly sure that he would get no answers from him, not with the silence from their last spat still clogging the air past breathing.

On other days, a silence like this would be calming, if a little lonely. Silence meant safety, after all. No gunfire, no roaring, screaming, slashing, sneaking, striking- it was just him, his friend, and the empty quiet, and there was nothing intrinsically wrong with that.

But this wasn't the calm, kind silence of crickets and traffic. This was the frenzied, hectic silence of the war tent, and if he didn't quiet it soon, he was sure he'd go insane-

"Just go."

The order was sudden. His head snapped up at it, struggling to mask itself into a state of clarity.

The paladin sighed, "you look like you're about to fall asleep or go insane trying not to. You'll be no help to anyone like that."

"..."

"I'm not going to do anything. So just go."

The Vault Dweller considered it. After everything that had happened, Danse was unlikely to turn around and shoot her. He still seemed pretty intent on taking her to court, but did he know how to care for her? Had he received even basic training?

"If something happened would you wake me?"

He fixed him with a stare, straight into the depths of his eyes.

"Of course."

He didn't betray anything close to insincerity.

"Wake me up in five hours."

* * *

"Everything is falling apart-"

"What did you expect-"

"DEATHCLAW-"

 _Deathclaw_?

"MOVE!"

"Wait- NO DON'T-"

Her eyes shot open as she threw herself forward, catapulting from her place and into the air. She was suspended like that for a moment, frozen in a slice of still time that waited just long enough for her to think "oh shit," before slamming her into the ground and opening every single injury on her body.

The pain didn't start immediately, probably because of adrenaline or something. Instead, her bewildered body gave her the tiny few seconds she needed to remember where she was, who she was, and what that strange warm liquid running down her face was before the rest of reality crashed into her all at once.

She screamed, she couldn't help it, it felt like she was burning on the inside, all her organs enveloped in red hot flames and no matter how she bit down, how she tried to silence it, the yell poured through as the pain rolled over again and again.

It was a different pain to being stabbed, shot or sliced. It was all of them, and lights too bright for her eyes and sounds too loud for her ears and a raw and relentless hunger that all coupled with a throbbing ache in her jaw, mingling together to make the entire world collapse into pain.

In the midst of it all, she only barely managed to her reason in the back of her mind, desperately trying to grapple control over her body back so that she could properly assess the situation.

Her first discovery was a kind one. If she didn't move, it didn't hurt… as much. Her second was that while the main part of her body was raw to breaking, most of the ache was in her stomach area. She didn't quite get why at first, after all, she'd been shot in the face, not the stomach.

A quick inspection of her face -which had already healed a great deal - told her what had happened. She'd been injured and her rad regen had, as planned, activated. Then, like an idiot, she'd let herself fall unconscious.

She'd only done the same once before. When she was younger and weaker and starving and had just needed a _minute_ of sleep after a ten-hour marathon on a broken leg, and it had nearly gotten her killed as she crawled about helpless and surrounded by enemies.

Afterwards, she'd told a doctor about it, and after a harrowing experiment involving ungodly amounts of morphine, a bonesaw and a lot of screaming they'd finally figured out what it was.

Her rad regen was a double-edged sword. It could heal her from almost anything in a short amount of time, but to do that it needed food and energy to work with. If she didn't eat, she'd eat herself, and if she was sleeping that went double.

The self-cannibalisation would eventually kill off all the different parts of her, and they'd fall off one by one until there was nothing left. After hearing it in such terrifying terms, she'd vowed to never do it again until the day she died.

Maybe it was another sign or something.

But now wasn't the time to worry about that. Right now she needed food. Desperately. No matter what. If she didn't eat soon, the worst would happen, and she didn't want to go out like that.

She repeated those thoughts over and over as everything went quiet, then she took a deep breath and moved.

Her body exploded into flames, choking her out and almost making her pull back. As she'd hoped, though, the pain was easier to deal with when she had mental preparation, and she just barely managed to keep her progress.

Biting her lip, she dragged herself forward a few more inches, and then a few more, tears nearly rolling each time as she was drawn tighter and tighter, before she slowly, painstakingly, made her way to the corner and pulled herself up.

From there, she'd have liked to hunt something down to eat. Sadly, even she could tell that for now that would be utterly impossible. She still hurt, and she felt like a single swipe from a yaoguai would rip her in half.

Her only chance was to approach someone else for help. Far from an easy task, because a good look at the room around her showed that she was alone.

Now, she could understand why she'd been abandoned. Someone, probably vaultie, had moved her while she was asleep, but for whatever reason, they'd put her in some kind of broom closet that was only 3 meters across. It was barely big enough for her, far less two people, so she wasn't going to fault them more than a grumble.

Still, he was no idiot, he wouldn't be dumb enough to leave her alone for long, so the chances were that there was someone out there she could find.

Unfortunately, the door out was two steps away. Two steps that would have been simple if she'd been healthy, but that she could tell were going to be anything but.

 _Even so, I have to do it. Either I can sit in pain and die, or I can move painfully and live._

She wasn't one to die from pain, so hardening her will as much as she could, she got to it and pushed off, making a flying duck step out to the midpoint.

She was immediately flooded with pain. The move almost sent her tumbling back to the ground, but she just barely managed to snag the side of the cabinet to steady herself. Having gained purchase, she breathed deeply and waited for the pain to subside, staring down the final stretch before she'd be able to get out of there.

Them biting down the yelp before it could begin, she leapt out towards the door-

-Which promptly opened and slammed her straight into a heavy metal chestplate _._

 _FUUUuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…..-_

She scrambled for a moment, trying to grab the chestplate and stay standing, but after the pain in her arms grew to be too much, she surrendered and gave up, allowing herself to slowly slide down like an insect on the windshield.

 _Guess I coulda just sat there after all,_ she thought _,_ feeling her legs collapse from under her _, man I feel like I wanna dieeeeeee-_

Her trip to the underworld was stopped, however, when her chest slammed into the paladin's heavy plate gauntlets and was left there, legs dangling like some dry washing.

"You're awake."

"Uwauuugha."

There was a sigh, then some movement, then darkness gave way to light. It stung her eyes, causing her to hiss and close them. She refused to open them again until she was dropped unceremoniously onto a pile of rags.

It pissed her off enough that she cracked them enough to send the paladin a blistering glare. It seemed that even after she'd saved his life at her own cost, he still didn't have it in him to not be a massive c**kstain.

The paladin's response was just as spite filled, "You gonna try anything?"

"I saved your _life._ "

"And managed to get ahold of a weapon in the process."

"Maybe it was so that I could do the whole _saving your life thing._ "

"Convenient," he scoffed.

The Scout fumed, but remained silent, she had no time for petty squabbles, and the paranoid freak wasn't going to let go anytime soon, better to let him think he'd won and save herself.

She turned her head up to him, preparing to start buttering him up, but the look of him stopped the words in her throat.

Staring down at her helmetless with the tiniest and most un Danselike grin, he had the smuggest f**king look on her face she'd ever seen. Like he was waiting for her to say it. No he was definitely expecting it.

 _Oh go get eaten by a deathclaw. As if I'm gonna start...licking ...your boots. There's no way I can do that!_

"I'm hungry," she spat out instead, instilling the request with as much venom as she could.

There was an unbroken minute of silence afterwards where the air grew thick. The Scout watched with something almost like adrenaline as the paladin's face slowly changed from smugness to spite. A part of her told herself that she shouldn't be driving people away by now, but another, more prideful part said that if she was gonna die, she was gonna die with dignity. The other voice said that that was rather fatalistic before the loudest voice just screamed that they wanted steak.

Eventually, though, it seemed that the paladin must have taken pity on her starving corpse because he threw a pack of snack cakes in her direction. She greedily tore open and into the packet, biting back a choke at the sickly sweet smell of 200-year-old sugar.

It was gone in seconds, but even then it still wasn't enough. It'd taken the pain off, sure, but it wouldn't last long. She needed something more substantial.

"Ug wugh kuagh," she demanded.

"...What?"

"I want steak!" She said again, swallowing down the sugar and dough with a slight grimace, "good, wholesome, high-calorie steak! Now!"

Danse met her words with chilling silence. For a long moment he simply stared at her, before he finally turned away and said, "deserters don't get to pick their provisions."

It was nothing that The Scout hadn't been expecting, but she still couldn't keep her heart from falling to her boots at it. Slowly, she went for plan two and instead tried to pull herself up so that she might hunt for herself.

The snack cakes had granted her a small amount of time, filled with an ungodly amount of sugar as they were, and it was time she couldn't afford to waste. She might not have anyone else to rely on, but if she made well, found a good rifle, she may yet be able to make good and pull off a hunt.

She walked as fast as she could, twisting through shadowed halls and corridors that seemed alien even though she'd walked them less than a day before. She'd almost made it out, then, but then she smelled it. Ash and burning flesh.

The stench assailed her, growing more and more disgusting as she followed it without even thinking. Her mind was screaming at her to stop, but her body was unable to keep from moving, taking step after step until she was staring down the pile of ash covered corpses that crept into view.

Five corpses untouched, and eight sets of armour and weapons. All piled neatly in a corner.

She threw up the snack cakes she'd eaten.

* * *

"Y-you killed them. Even after I went to all the trouble."

He ignored her accusation, "I thought you were going to hunt."

"You killed them all." she repeated, shivering with pure horror, "I let em go, and you just- you spat in the face of that."

"They were raiders. If I didn't take care of them they'd have killed us all when they woke up."

"You could have tied them up-"

"Not enough rope."

"You could have-"

"No." he interrupted her with finality, "we couldn't have."

Things went on like that for a while. Every complaint was met with cold disinterest, every piece of humanity those raiders had had crushed and ignored. She couldn't bear it. To be so helpless in the face of something so heartless.

She collapsed, only vaguely remembering that she would die soon if she didn't do anything. A part of her didn't care. She just didn't care anymore. What was the point of holding out anymore-

It was all so cold and heartless. Nothing she could do would change that.

The wasteland won, and she greeted her loss with silence.

It became her companion as she spiralled down. For her, the quiet had always been unnerving, a constant reminder of how dead and alone the wasteland was, and it was easy to get stuck in these moods at those times.

In a way, it was kind of ironic. She was supposed to be The Lone Wanderer but she could only function when it was loud.

The thought of it immediately sent her tumbling back into the memories of her friends. Where were they now? How were they doing? It was a line she usually avoided at all costs. She'd never be able to find out, and she'd never be able to help them if they needed it. She was helpless, and apparently she'd die that way.

She tried to turn away like she always did, but it was frustratingly hard this time. It was like her life was flashing in her eyes even before her body started to shut down, and soon she'd surrendered herself to the fact that she was going to go out a miserable pile of regrets-

 _SLAM_

A hard object collided with the unhurt side of her face, the impact sent her leaping off the ground in shock. Angry at having been startled, she twisted just slightly to glare at whatever it was.

When she saw it, the curses stopped. Whatever she'd been expecting, it hadn't been a can of beans. Not only that but a hot one, if the leftover heat on her cheek was any indication.

Somebody cleared their throat. She didn't even have to look to know that it was Danse. If the metallic edge didn't give it away, his self-satisfied tone would have.

"Oh Fuck off," she groaned.

"Do you want to die?"

 _After what you did I sure feel like it_ , she thought viscerally. She was going to spit it out too, but even as she thought it, for some godforsaken reason she just couldn't say it, "...No."

"Then eat that while I get you something more substantial."

He didn't have to ask twice. After hearing the word substantial, something almost like hope had exploded in her chest and she'd dug down. It sounded like he was actually going to get her some meat, which might allow her to survive. The only remotely poor aspect was that it flew in the face of literally everything she knew.

 _He killed those people, and he's constantly talking about how much he hates me, so why the hell is he saving me now?_

She'd always just assumed him to be in the camp of people who'd rather she just died, so to receive help like this was... enlightening? Insane? Unexpected?

She couldn't forgive him even so, not after what he'd done, but still, it warranted investigation.

"Maybe you're actually ok," she muttered under her breath, finishing the last of the beans.

"Huh?" the paladin queried, an edge of smugness to it.

She gritted her teeth at the sound, old pride still not having been set aside,"I want four steaks." She lied.

"Four?"

"Hey, it's not like you ever eat the whole thing anyway!"

* * *

She didn't follow Danse. With her condition, she'd've only weighed him down. Instead, she explored the area to try and find where Vaultie was hanging about in. It was slow progress, but not quite painful anymore. The beans and cakes had helped with the hunger, and her body seemed to be fast acclimatising to the ache.

She guessed that it must have been the return of an old talent of hers. She'd always been a little better at dealing with pain than other people, and it had only sharpened with travel, and while it had grown dull in the years of peace and boredom, she was happy to feel it come back. God knew she never wanted to feel as soft as she had when she had woken up again.

Vaultie was still fast asleep when she finally found him, but he must have sensed her because he woke up immediately once she walked in.

He must have woken with the fear that he'd been jumped again because his first response was breathless panic, but he seemed to calm down once he saw her, and that was something she was glad for. If nothing else, she'd gained a tiny bit of trust over this venture.

 _Not that it'll matter once I'm on trial._

The thought sent her straight from pleasantly neutral to heartbroken, it must have shown on her face because his response was swift, "something wrong?"

She held back a sigh, it figured he'd notice. She knew she was one to wear her heart on her sleeve and Vaultie was far from blind so it would be weird for him to miss it. ...Not that that made the concern worth anything. There was no way he'd be able to help her without compromising himself, so telling him her problems would just be wasted air.

Still, on some level she would have welcomed the noise, it would take her mind off of things in the hours before the end. Who knew, maybe she would even crack a few jokes by the end of it.

She decided to try, "I'm hungry," she grumbled, doing her best to look cartoonishly upset as she plopped down next to the fire and tucked her knees against her chest.

Vaultie watched the display with slight amusement, before taking a spot beside her, "do you want some snack cakes." he offered quietly.

"Have you discovered the cure for diabetes?"

"I take that as a no then."

"That'd be smart."

"I see..." he paused for a moment, before continuing hesitantly, "Is there anything _else_ I can do?"

She opened her mouth, doing her best impression of an old-fashioned cheese wheel, "feed me something better."

Beside her, Vaultie silently lifted a mutfruit.


	15. Radiowave Row

Disclaimer: I do not own Fallout.

* * *

She hadn't been on a sugar high for a long ass time, and it felt just as wild as she remembered -it was just too bad that said sugar high was occurring while she slowly ate away at herself, or she'd probably have relished the way everything shone and sped up.

Right now it was just drab and dreary like her mind was only barely staying alight. She'd be disappointed but, well, the sugar high was _probably_ the only reason why it was taking so long to die, so she had to feel happy with it anyway.

 _Not to mention it's helping pretty well with the pain,_ she added, noting how the all consuming hell had seemed to die down to a light throbbing. After her meal, she'd finally gotten some rest, and the pain was now so weak that at times of stillness she could almost forget it was there. That wasn't to say that it didn't act up at times, though -sudden movements were still hard to get through, but so long as she sat still, that wasn't much of a problem. As for sitting still, that wasn't a problem either, thanks to god old Vaultie and his entrancing tales.

Now more than ever, she was glad that he was such a good conversation partner. If she'd been bored, it would've been that much harder to sit still, but with him here, getting her completely soaked in even the stupidest ideas, it was as easy as hunting a molerat.

They talked about many things beside the fire like that, filling the air with life and excitement as they swapped topics. From Vaulties displeasure at the lack of pac man disks in the wastes, to The Scout's happiness at the varieties of food in Boston, to his annoyance at how hard adhesive was to come by, to her excitement at seeing the differences in Bostonian food when compared to Washington's, to his worries over the declining oil stores, to her curiosity regarding cooked fish and seagulls-

"I mean seriously, you have a shoreline - _a shoreline_ -just imagine the possibilities!"

He sighed, "I'm sure there's plenty of fish in the basin."

"Yeah, if by fish you mean killer mirelurks."

"I find mirelurk meat is just fine when prepared well."

"But why would you eat boring old mirelurk when you can eat _fish_!"

"For me it's the fish that's ordinary."

She quieted down at that, giving it thought. He was right of course, there probably weren't any mirelurks around before the war, so, from a foody point of view, the wasteland was probably positively exotic.

Even so, she didn't ask. Prying had a nasty habit of bringing up memories that she was never able to properly deal with, so delving into his backstory now was something she wasn't willing to do.

Sadly, knowing that didn't keep her from feeling super awkward in the moments that followed, looking expectantly at Vaultie's faraway expression as silence replaced silence.

Homesickness she guessed, she knew that wistful look anywhere.

She'd seen it plenty. It made its home on slaves, and on children scarred by the loss of their parents. It was in the eyes of every terrified woman who ran past, or every ex-raider -Yeah, she'd seen it plenty -though she'd had the kind of disposition to never see it on herself. For her, it was always the people that were her home, so having a friend to shine a mirror on you generally meant you had one.

She did miss 101, of course, but that was just so far back...Vaultie didn't have that benefit, the pain was still so raw, and it probably assaulted him every time he turned around and saw the dead husks of buildings he once knew.

 _Now the pain of loss, that I can identify with,_ she thought wryly, _I can never have anyone back either -not with Cross and Charon dead, RL-3 reprogrammed, and the rest of them off god knows where._

The thought of those times sent a short spasm through her chest, but it left quickly. She might have lost them, but she still had a home up there, and a friend too, even, in Natalia.

Nat could never replace them, she was her own person, and The Scout'd never think otherwise, but she was a part of the changing times, and she made them sweeter.

 _Maybe..._ she thought, looking at the man across from her, _I could do that too._

She rolled the idea about a bit, testing the scenarios in her head to see how badly she could fuck it up if she tried. In the end, though, she never even got to trying, she couldn't figure out a way to even get _started_.

 _Do I say howdy? Hi? Hello? Start with a joke or is this too sad for a joke- either way, I probably shouldn't say_ that _._

But in all her worrying, it seemed like she'd chosen a different answer -staying a silent failure until Vaultie takes pity on you and turns on the radio.

She wasn't sure if it was a win or a lose, but there wasn't much she could do either way, so she just allowied the songs to take the fall for her while she looked for something topical to talk about.

Speaking of that song… she had to admit it was pretty familiar. It sounded almost exactly like butcher pete, but the words were a little different before the big middle part. She figured it had to be the rumoured second half of the song that Charon had told her about -apparently Three Dog had _used_ to play it, but it had gotten obliterated by a super mutants exploding corpse, sticking him with only the first half.

Hearing that had made her beyond curious. It was like a cool mystery: find the fabled second song, and back then she'd had nothing better to worry about anyway.

But even after all she'd searched, she'd never managed to find it. It was lost to the abyss of the wastes, like all the other cool songs.

Now she'd finally heard it, a million miles away and a million days too late, and it sucked.

"What the hell's this?!" she scowled, "There's almost nothing different about it!"

Vaultie turned to give her an odd look, "it's a series of songs."

"It's the same song but split in two, lazy shits just took a passable tune and split it in half so they could grab double money."

"Well what were you expecting? _Innovation?_ "

"It told me that I wouldn't _believe_ what happened next!"

"Well you couldn't believe that it was so samey," he pointed out, playfully, earning a narrowed glare.

"Don't pretend that was what it meant!" she cried, almost forgetting her pain and leaping up, before the shocked look in his eyes brought her back into reality.

 _Was I actually about to hurt myself over some music!? How stupid am I?_

Her exasperation must have shown on her face because Vaultie immediately broke into a chuckle at it.

She drooped down, pouting at it, but really, she wasn't that annoyed. How could she be?

Here she was, sitting next to a friend in the wake of a fight, pigging out and listening to old tunes... A scene like this was just too pleasant, too familiar.

"I missed being down here."

The Scout barely caught sight of her new friend's -were they friends? -shocked look before the door slammed open. She didn't need to hear the ruckus the armour was causing to know who the culprit was.

She turned to look anyway, and the sight sent her stomach to grumbling. There was Paladin Danse, in all his glory, standing still in the doorway with a yao guai over his shoulder, light dancing around him like the halo of an angel.

She didn't even know what was happening as she flew into the air. All her self-restraint had vanished, throwing her into a soaring leap like a hungry dog that didn't even flinch when she slammed headfirst into the floor. Pain didn't exist right now, only her and that massive yao guai that was dragging her closer nail by nail like she wasn't even in control of her body.

Then she got there, staring up at the man's helmet in pure adoration, and with a heart-pumping adrenaline through her body like blood. This was what she lived for, what she ached for -that moment when all the pain and tragedy paid off in one beautiful climax.

Vaultie spoke out nervously from the corner, "you know you can't eat raw meat right?"

* * *

The Scout barely moved as Danse and The Vault Dweller prepared dinner. Ever since Vaulties crushing declaration she'd been stuck laying there, motionless, with the only activity that she made being the endless groaning.

Granted, he could see why. She'd sacrificed every ounce of dignity she'd possessed with that display, and he'd be groaning in regret too if he'd done the same.

That sympathy was the only thing that kept him from kicking her until she shut up, and after an hour of it, it was starting to wear thin. After all, surely this amount of groaning was unnecessary- she'd been doing it seemingly _endlessly_ , and the only respite he'd gotten had been when the flecks of oil and fat had flown into her bare skin, at which point she had weakly rolled over a few centimetres then continued.

He was ashamed to say that perhaps that spite had found its way into the meal. A small wish of "shut up or get sick" that infected all its goodwill. It almost made him want to recook it, but he comforted himself with the knowledge that it was probably nothing. Cooking wasn't magic, and you couldn't really put love in a meal, and even if it did, what was the worst that could happen?

His mind was not braced for what actually happened, in the end, but he was at least comfortable in the knowledge that it wasn't his fault. It was only a small comfort though, one that barely kept him from fainting as she grabbed a piece of meat direct from the fire and stuffed it down while the flames were still dancing.

"Ants," was the only explanation she'd given upon The Vault Dwellers bug-eyed panic, "ants and science." It wasn't exactly the most satisfactory explanation in history, but the woman seemed to somehow be okay with it. Even so, he kept a close eye on her for the next while, making sure she didn't hurt herself badly and swatting her away from some of the uncooked and burning pieces like she was a suicidal racoon until it was all at last done.

After that, all had been well for a while. Then she'd taken the next steak. And the next. And the next after that.

He would have been indignant at it -she'd left them only scraps! -but he wasn't, it was just too shocking to see a single woman scarf down most of a yao guai.

In fact, he was going to congratulate her for it! It was the kind of thing you made bets on -but then

-But then she had to insult _the food_ \- after she'd groaned, and whined and almost died -after they'd gone through all the effort to get it done in time-

"This tastes like horseshit."

Danse put his plate down with a slam, "I used up bullets on this. For you. So you better be damn grateful."

"You didn't even season it! It tastes like coal!"

" _We only cooked it like this to get you to shut up_."

He sighed, "Can't you two just calm down."

"No."

"No."

 _Well that's that then,_ he thought with a sigh, _nothing more to do except try to focus on something else._

He decided that that something else would be the radio, which Danse had turned off shortly after returning. He'd initially complained about it, noting how information was always travelling. There was always the chance that something was happening someplace else, and as the general, he had a responsibility to hear it.

After a few minutes of silence, however, he realised that today was a rarity indeed. The entire wasteland had gone quiet, and a part of him warmed at the thought. Either his men were finally picking up slack, or his one-man crusade was working.

A satisfied feeling in his chest, he finally turned the radio to another channel, ready for the first real bout of free time he'd had for a while.

 _I mean I_ guess _you could say I'm still escorting a prisoner, but this one is honestly so docile I may as well be travelling with a puppy_.

Then he remembered the execution and his heart dropped, her likeness to a fledgeling dog only making it worse.

Eager to forget it for now, he pushed the dial across until he hit familiar horizons of Diamond City Radio. He lost himself in the music, happily becoming dead to the world for awhile, then, two plays of five stars and atom bombs later, Travis finally got to saying something important.

"So, uuuh, there's a-a bit more news, on The, Wes-East University Plains. You know that settlement that farmed all the hemp and… and stuff. Well, it went quiet a while ago and now we know why. It's gone now. And we have the brotherhood to thank for it." the DJ paused for a moment, collecting himself for his next line. If The Vault Dweller hadn't been so horrified at his timing, he'd've been applauding him for his uncharacteristic seriousness.

The others weren't nearly the same, though. Danse was looking on inscrutably at the radio, while The Scout was focused solely on stuffing her face, not bothering with the story she'd seen already.

"Anyway- so that's gonna have an -an impact on trade. A lotta clothes were made outta hemp, paper and fuel and food and -well the point is that it's bad and the -the brotherhood isn't making things any better..." Travis squeaked "A good..uuh friend! A good friend of mine once said you have to- uuh, fight the good fight-"

He didn't get to hear the end of the broadcast, because after that the room exploded, Danse came alive, rounding on The Scout with a scream of metal

"Hey you, what the fuck was that," he demanded.

The Scout said nothing, only staring down intently downwards as she began devouring her food with renewed fervour. Unfortunately for her, Danse refused to cooperate, striding towards her until he towered and kicked the plate out of her hands.

"Oh come on, don't just waste food like that!" She yelled, scrambling across the ground to pick up the steak that had been strewn across the floor.

"Did you or did you not eliminate Three DogThree Dog!"

"What?"

"Don't try to feign ignorance!"

"I don't know what you're- UGk" -her denial was cut off as the paladin slammed his armoured fists into her stomach. It impacted hard, not producing too much sound but reverberating through with a quiet crack that sent a spike of panic through his chest.

The Scout fared far worse, crumpling immediately as spit and vomit dripped from her mouth and filled the air with an acrid smell.

Danse reared up again, "did you or-"

He leapt up immediately, heading over to the two of them in time to plant himself between them before he struck out again.

"Move aside soldier, the situation just changed."

"What changed?"

"Hurk-nothin."

Danse ignored her, "that radio just implied that a high priority target was still alive. A high priority target that that traitor was ordered to eliminate. If he is still alive then she-" He gestured to the place The Scout was, "must be dealt with accordingly."

"Sh-shut up- you- hck, have- _no proof_."

"You and I both heard what that DJ said."

"S-so what," she coughed weakly, spitting up a little more bile and resting against the back wall," it c-coulda been anything. Word of mouth- people smugglers."

"Or it could've been the man himself, you could've let him escape."

"P-prove- it."

"What was he targeted for?!" The Vault Dweller yelled, tired of the back and forth when he knew absolutely nothing, _I can't make a judgement if I don't know the argument_.

Danse snorted, but answered, "treason."

The Scout countered it, "f-free speech."

"He didn't approve of the brotherhood, then?"

The Scout only shook her head silently, shuddering with each one as she kept a close eye on Danse.

Danse scoffed, "he was a supporter of Lyon's -So was she. She proved her trustworthiness by eliminating him, or so we thought."

"Say it in court, asshole."

He reached for the rifle on his back, "no need for that-"

" _Danse_."

His words didn't the other man, but they did give him pause, hands freezing around his half drawn weapon as he glared hotly at him.

"She's a traitor."

 _And we don't kill traitors when we can put them through court_ , he thought, disappointed, _and that's what I've decided to do,_ "we agreed that I was in charge here. Now get out."

"B-"

"Out."

He said it more forcefully this time, driving every bit of tension and seriousness he could into the words. The paladin had to realise that their relationship wouldn't survive that shot -that under no uncertain terms would he ever become a war criminal, even if it fractured everything between them.

Then, eventually, the tension broke, and Danse left.

It might have been cruel to say, but he was glad that Danse was gone. He understood his points, even his feelings, but even in the old war he'd never been one to stand for executing traitors without trials. Everyone had the right to speak, and that went especially for his fellow Americans.

The thought of it happening right before him was enough to fill him with disgust, and with his feelings in such a state, he was sure something regrettable would have happened if Danse'd stayed.

 _I suppose that it also means that she's safe from further harm,_ he thought, turning to look at The Scout. She seemed to be doing admirably, but from the blood and bruising, it was clear that damage had been done.

 _She's going to need bandages,_ he realised, _and we don't even have many left._

 _The thought made him groan, that's just another thing to be frustrated about, I suppose._

Still, in the end he managed, rifling around till he found enough alcohol, bandages and disinfectant to be reasonably sure he could do _something._ Clicking his tongue, he gathered it all out and gestured to her.

She nodded, ambling over and lying down flat on the ground next to him with her hands clasped over where she'd been hit.

"Thanks for this," she sighed, before frowning, "though I don't really know if I need it anymore."

He hummed his agreement, after all, it seemed like she wasn't in such pain anymore, "you still hungry though?"

"A bit, but not so much that I'll die if that's what you're worried about."

"I generally feel better when everyone's well fed."

"Maybe, but-" she hesitated, looking at the supplies they had.

 _They aren't exactly piling to the sky_ , he admitted inwardly, _maybe it should be given on a more necessitated basis._

"I shouldn't really be getting it besides -since I'm a traitor."

His gaze sharpened, flying over to her, "About that."

"About the theft, I mean," she said hurriedly, eyes shifting away, "there's still no proof about Three DogThree Dog. It won't stand."

The Vault Dweller inspected her face closely at that, but even though she was pale and diverted, he couldn't tell if it was a lie or fear.

 _Fear of what, though? She's already going to trial, already thinks it's a death sentence, what more could she lose from someone turning out to be alive?_

He could think of a few things. Maybe if that crime came out, any defense she tried to mount would be broken, maybe in the back of her mind she was still hoping that a small incident like theft wouldn't lead to her death.

 _Maybe she's scared he'll be hunted down._

It was an important question, to be sure, but looking at her pale face and bruised abdomen, he couldn't find a reason to ask.

 _She's clammed up. I'll have to wait till she opens up again._

Instead he aimed for a lighter conversation, "so why were you so worried about getting food before?"

She answered lightly, colour rushing back to her face with relief, "Oh that!? it's to do with my mutation. The one I told you about."

"The one that lets you heal?"

"Yep," she nodded, "can heal from almost anything with enough time but, well, it also has to come from somewhere, right, and that's food."

"You need to incorporate the extra biomass," he realised.

"Yeah! Usually about four times more than usual is enough -but if I don't eat then I... uh... eat myself."

He choked.

"It's not that bad though!" she reassured him, sitting up, "useless stuff like the fingers and toes drop off first, and so long as I eat after that, then even those'll grow back! It only takes a few days, actually, it's pretty convenient!"

"You've...lost fingers before?"

"Yep!" she wiggled them in front of her, "And look here, still got em!"

"How did you shoot?"

Her face grew grim, "with great effort."

"Well…" he said quietly, eyeing her fingers suspiciously like he thought they'd fall off right that moment, "as the cook of this meal can I just say that I am _not_ having that."

* * *

Chap ...I don't even know. Anyone, if anyone cares bout this project enjoy I guess!


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